


My Eyes are Open

by Lenabenaaaa



Category: Matilda (1996)
Genre: Adult Spanking, Child Abuse, Matilda movie and musical crossover kinda, annie and Matilda crossover kinda, bunch of other kids as characters, trigger warning--abuse of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenabenaaaa/pseuds/Lenabenaaaa
Summary: "'If I keep my eyes closed', she tells herself, 'I can ignore my fear. Imagine somewhere else-a better world. A world where I'm not pathetic and trapped in my aunt's torture chamber'." Jennifer Honey took the books from the Trunchbull's office to give to Matilda, and was caught. Better summary inside. Miss Honey-centric, Matilda gains importance as story progresses.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter One

My Eyes Are Open

Chapter One

Summary: Jennifer Honey is pathetic. At twenty-four, she still lives with her aunt and lives in fear of the slightest misstep. This all changes when Matilda, a five-year-old genuis is in her kindergarten class. To protect the girl from her wicked aunt, and provide a better life for them both, Jenny must learn how to open her eyes and fight for what's right.

A/N: This was mainly just something that had been in my head since I saw Matilda on Broadway and wanted to get out and on paper. Also, in this story, Matilda is an amalgamation of Roald Dahl's story and Orphan Annie. There are some major plot points changed from the movie and musical, but-as always-I do not own Matilda, Annie, or Broadway.

Warnings: This chapter contains adult incontinence, adult disciplinary spanking, and abuse.  
If these make you uncomfortable, you can just skip it and jump in with chapter two.

Story:

Jenny allows herself to be dragged through the hallway without much resistance. Her Aunt's death grip on her arm would not be released no matter what she does, so the young woman resigns to the headmistress' firm escort. It's a lesson Jenny learned long ago.

The girl stumbles to right herself after being thrown into her aunt's office and tentatively turns to watch the behemoth of a woman looming in the doorway once she finds her balance. The larger woman places her hands on her hips; the girl's stomach fills with dread.

"I know I should not have done it, Aunt Trunchbull-" the girl starts.

The woman takes two powerful strides into the room, towards Jenny, and slams the door loudly. Jenny flinches, placing a hand over her chest to keep her heart from beating out of it. "That is still headmistress, to you, Jenny girl."

Jenny eagerly nods, accepting her mistake, "Of course, headmistress." Her aunt begins to circle the smaller woman, expectant. Jenny is surprised by the woman's silence. She's probably just waiting for the girl to try to explain herself, more than likely so her aunt can ridicule it, but she finds hope in the fact that she's not immediately shut down. Maybe she can explain herself, and-for once-her aunt will understand. The teacher didn't mean any harm.

Jenny gulps and begins her explanation. "As you know, there is a girl in my class named Matilda Wormwood-"

"Of course. The nasty little brat has been a pain in my neck since she arrived, but you've become soft-well, softer than already-to her. She's your weakness. It is obvious that she is behind this, the disgusting felon." The Trunchbull reasons as she completes her lap around the teacher and stalks towards her desk.

The accusation breaks Jenny from her frozen position to pursue behind her aunt, "Oh no, not at all." Her aunt suddenly turns around at the objection, leaving Jenny too close for comfort and backing away for distance, and of volume and boldness. "As I told you, she's quite brilliant. I took the books from your office to give to her." Jenny's confession hangs ominously in the air as she awaits her headmistress' reaction.

"Impossible. That child is a monster." The woman crosses in front of her, then turns back upon a realization. "You're trying to cover for her. I knew you couldn't handle her, Jen. You're too spineless!"

Jenny fights to keep herself from shrinking at the familiar insults. For Matilda. Jenny shakes her head, to find courage or in disagreement, she's not sure. "No, Headmistress, that's not-"

The Trunchbull stops in her tracks, sobering immediately. "What do you just say to me?"

The poor girl's eyes widen, trying to rush to fix her mistake of telling her aunt she was wrong. "I just meant-"

"'I just meant'," Agatha Trunchbull mocks in a small voice before returning to her normal, boisterous voice, "What you meant, Honey, was to tell me how spineless and disgusting you are at teaching, and how that rat Matilda Wormwood stole those books from my office."

Jenny lowers her head, adverting her eyes and hiding two small fists in her cardigan sleeves. She refuses to sacrifice her student for herself.

"Oh, feeling rebellious are we?" The Trunchbull leans down to hover near Jenny's downcast face. "You know what happens to rebellious maggots."

Jenny comes out of hiding to look up at her aunt, standing small and feeling microscopic as tears form in her eyes. "No..." She whispers in disbelief.

A wicked, sickly grin spreads across the woman's face. "Yes."

Jenny's lip trembles and she stands indignant in a desperately worried frown.

"Chokey."

The word alone strikes enough fear into the girl to risk resistance. She gasps and makes a dash towards the old brown door that separates her from the outside. But her aunt is between her and her-at least temporary-escape. Aunt Trunchbull reaches out and easily grabs one of Jenny's elbows, effectively stopping her. Adrenaline and excitement running through the woman's veins, she yanks the smaller woman back to her. "Oh, Jen. I thought you had learned to not try to run a long time ago. You know you'll always lose, I will always be there to win."

Jenny tries to shrink away, but isn't allowed much leeway at all. None, actually. "But you know that the Chokey teaches you lessons. Makes you stronger. I'm sure you're familiar." The Trunchbull shoves her niece towards the dreaded cupboard door. "While you grow a backbone, I will take over your class, don't worry Honey. No more read-alongs and fairy tales, I'll teach them true discipline, while you'll learn it too!"

Jenny's objections of whimpers raise to shouted begging pleas as Aunt Trunchbull rips her arms away from the sides of the door and shoves her into the small cupboard. Jenny cringes as her aunt bangs on the door and seems like she can feel the vibrations throughout her whole body.

The headmistress doesn't say anything else and the only way that Jenny knows she is gone is by the office door slamming shut and making her jump.

Jenny struggles to force her breath even. If I keep my eyes closed, she tells herself, I can ignore my fear. Imagine somewhere else-a better world. A world where I'm not pathetic and trapped in my aunt's torture chamber. But her fear suffocates her. The nails and shards of glass digging into her arms and ripping her dress don't help either. The Chokey was originally intended for a small child, and Miss Honey-though scrawny-barely fits. Jenny thinks this gives her aunt more pleasure than even she anticipated. Like when something turns out better than you planned.

The girl in the Chokey feels the nails and glass cut her delicate skin and notices blood drip down from some of the lacerations. There's hardly any light, so she can't see much anyway, but as someone with experience, she can tell it's not serious.

Once she takes a quick peak to survey her own bodily injuries, the teacher closes her eyes again and thinks of her students all alone in her classroom. With Headmistress Trunchbull. But for what must be the millionth time, Jenny is glad she has prepped her kindergartners for this situation. Lavender is responsible for tending to the headmistress' water requirement. Tommy and Alice are to do their bests to hide anything bright and colorful. Hortensia and Bruce make sure the desks are positioned correctly and neatly.

And Matilda, she is mainly there to keep the peace. The brave little girl answers the difficult questions the cruel woman would terrorize the children with, and assists those around her so they could answer and satiate the beast too. Matilda is very clever, and though things always do go awry when The Trunchbull is on a witch hunt to prove someone wrong, Miss Honey is confident Matilda will manage and navigate it. As well as anyone could, anyway.

Jenny wonders how long she'll be locked in here. She's spent an entire day in Chokey before. She didn't leave that punishment unscathed. Jenny prays it won't be that long again. She's not sure she could handle the thought of her students being in the unshielded custody of her aunt for that long.

But this place is a nightmare for her. Even the thought of it causes her breathing to shallow and her hands to sweat. It is suffocating. She can't move, can't breathe fresh air. It's like she is a child again, small and defenseless against her mighty aunt. The girl supposes it will always be like this, she will always be pathetic.

An hour or so passes and she progressively feels pressure in her bladder building. She fidgets in what little room she has to wipe the tears from her face. Miss Honey is sweating from all over her body. Even though the nails scrape at her bare arms, she's grateful for the less discomfort her short sleeves provide her. Pretty soon the pain in her bladder unbearable, and Miss Honey can't think of anything else. Not even her favorite novels and characters could pull her away from the uncomfortable filled sensation. She presses a palm through her dress for counter-pressure and bends over as much as the tiny cupboard allows. Jenny knows she can't last much longer.

Jenny clears her throat. "Headmistress?" She whispers out, despite the fact that she hasn't heard any movement in the room for a long time. The girl tries again louder, "Headmistress?"

The desperation in her voice resonates in the office. The young woman weakly shakes the door, not minding the glass that cuts into her hands. "Headmistress, please let me out." All dignity is gone. Jenny just doesn't want to have an accident. "Aunt Trunchbull, please, will you let me out?" She is willing to risk her aunt entering and hear the wrong title for when they're at school if it means escape from this place, escape into whatever fresh punishment the outside would bring.

But it doesn't come. The Trunchbull doesn't come. What does come is a little trickle from Miss Honey's bladder that dampens her panties. Jenny intakes a sharp, shaky breath as she holds herself together. She must hold it in, if the Trunchbull comes to release her only to find her standing in a puddle of her own pee, she can't imagine her reprimand. The second her aunt comes in, Jenny plans on pushing her way past the large woman and to the bathroom down the hall. Or maybe, the Headmistress' private bathroom. It's closer, just off of the main office, but the reaction of her aunt is unpredictable and unpreferred, at best. She must return before too long.

Jenny wraps her arms around herself as a longer leak seeps into her panties and down her legs. This isn't good, she can't hold it much longer, but she knows how angry her aunt will be at her. She hates this, this feeling of helplessness her aunt causes. Even at twenty-four, long past her years of being a little girl, Jenny is just as weak and scared. Her aunt knows it too.

Jenny finally can't hold it any longer. Hot tears pour down her cheeks as she takes a shallow breath and feels the leaking begin, but she can't stop it this time. The warm liquid soaks her panties and rushes down the insides of her legs. Her pee seeps into her socks and shoes and forms a puddle at her feet, almost completely covering the bottom of the Chokey.

Jenny immediately feels relief, but also terror and disbelief. "I can't believe I just did that", she whispers to herself, hanging her head and looking down to inspect the damage. From what little she can see, the floor is mostly wet but her dress, for the most part, is dry. Thank goodness. But the worst is the smell. Jenny can barely breathe as the smell of her own urine permeates the small space, making it seem more claustrophobic than it already is. Her shoes make a sickening squishing sound when she shifts her weight and her wet panties feel heavy and sticky against her body. As fearful as she is of how the Trunchbull will react to finding her like this, Jenny is frantically desperate to be anywhere but here right now, a feeling she's pretty familiar with.

So she tells herself a story. A happy memory, though she has few. A dream. Anything. Jenny closes her eyes and struggles to take a deep breath into her lungs, before transporting herself out of the Chokey and anywhere happier.

Jenny, though a significantly younger version, finds herself at her favorite place; the Library. She's on the front steps to the large building, looking up with wonder-filled eyes at the doors-a gate to knowledge and imagination.

"Bumblebee, let's go!" A deep voice beckons laughingly. The little Jenny looks up to see her Father grinning down at her, offering a hand. She smiles as she takes it.

"My bumblebee, this is a very important day!" Her Father proclaims as they walk through the old, grandiose doors and towards the front desk. "Now that you're five, it's finally time for you to get your first library card!"

Jenny smiles wide and stands on her tip-toes to try to see over the desk, but she's too small. Her Father notices and takes her into his arms. Holding her close, he turns to the librarian and takes the small card she has extended to him. It's obvious he had this intention days ago and already created the account for his little girl so the card would be here in time for her birthday. "Thank you Miss Phelps." He smiles charmingly as he takes the card.

"Of course, Magnus." She turns to the little girl, "Welcome to the Library, Jennifer."

Although Miss Honey was no child genius like her current student Matilda, the young woman had always been exceptionally bright. Her Father had begun teaching her to read when she was three and she was reading full children's books by her fourth birthday. And thus began a long romance between the girl and novels, one that is still deeply cherished even as an adult. The memory is of one of her happiest days, one that she holds close to her heart and is comforting to think about.

Jenny is suddenly ripped away from her comfort and reverie as she hears the office door swing open and angrily slam shut. She holds her breath and regrets what she said about anywhere being better than here. As miserable and cramped and painful the Chokey is, it's reliable. Out there, with the Trunchbull, that's unpredictable. Here is safe, better that than the unknown.

"Stupid, bumbling idiots. The lot of them." She hears her aunt spit the words out, coming towards her. Oh no.

Aunt Trunchbull fiddles with the chains of the door as she speaks further explicatives to herself about the idiocy of children. Until she manages to click the lock open and sling the door open. The sight of her niece would have been laughable if she weren't so angry. Jenny looked more pale and thin than usual, and gasps for the fresh air when the door is opened. The young woman's hair is almost completely soaked from sweat and she stinks.

"My god, Jen, what is that revolting stench?" The Trunchbull grabs her niece's arm and shoves her against the wall next to the Chokey. The poor woman is putty, unresisting, and finds no words to offer an explanation. Aunt Trunchbull leans into the girl's face to growl, seething and demanding, "What did you do, you nasty maggot."

"I-I had-d t-to..." Jennifer drifts off, hanging her head-anything to avoid facing her aunt.

"Spit it out!" The woman's-if you can call her that-voice catalyzes the smaller girl into action.

"I couldn't hold it anymore, I swear!" Jenny cries.

The Trunchbull peers into the torture chamber, frowning as she puts the pieces together. "Did you... did you piss yourself?" The woman is surprised, but there's something unsettling in her voice. Delight, almost.

Jenny can't find it within herself to look up, so she turns her face to the side, laying it against the cool wall and avoiding eye contact. But her aunt has other ideas. "Answer me." She orders as she shoves the girl into the wall again.

"Yes." Is Jenny's mousey reply, putting her chin to her chest and looking down at the yellow stains on the insides of her socks.

"Oh you've done it now, you spineless nit-wit." The headmistress throws the girl towards her desk. Miss Honey barely catches herself against the wooden edge and quickly turns around as she supports herself on the sturdy furniture. Jenny learned long ago to keep her eyes on her aunt, especially in situations like this one, where her aunt is crazed and unpredictable. "I'm not sure why I expected anything different. I spent all morning slaving away, attempting to fix the mess you created with those snot-nosed monsters in your classroom, you reading them story books and colouring. I take it upon myself to teach them what real discipline is and undo the happiness-and-sunshine idiocy you flower upon them, and this is how you thank me. You're pathetic, Jennifer Honey, and if you insist on acting like a child, you leave me no choice but to treat you like one."

Jenny's eyes widen in horror. "No, please, Aunt Trunchbull. Don't—"

"There is no use begging. You've done this to yourself. Accept your punishment, at least try not to be the coward you are." The Trunchbull stands erectly in front of her subordinate. "Pull up your dress and lean over my desk."

"Please, Headmistress," Jenny holds her hands against her chest, her fingers brushing up against her beloved bee necklace for strength. "There must be another way to—"

"Absolutely not. You are acting like a child, Honey, so I must punish you as one. I will not repeat myself." The woman crosses her arms.

Defeated, Miss Honey nods as she pinches her lips together. She feels the Trunchbull's eyes on her as she bends down to collect the bottom of her dress and rises with it, then bunches it up in one hand as she places the other flat on the desk to steady herself. The girl cringes when she feels her aunt's hands on her, sliding her wet panties down to her ankles. Though, in a way, she's glad to be rid of their dampness.

"You are to count after each lash." The Trunchbull places herself to the left of Jenny.

"How—" Jenny's voice cracks so she starts again, "How many?" So at least she knows how many to count down to.

"Until I think you've learned your lesson." The Trunchbull angrily, sinisterly, strictly states. The woman then pushes Jenny's shoulders down so her face and stomach are forced against the flat surface of the desk. One of the headmistress' meaty hands presses down on the teacher's back to keep her there.

Without any further warning, Agatha Trunchbull sends her riding crop whistling through the air and snaps it across her niece's bare bottom. Jenny intakes a small gasp, and hisses only a little after as the air feels cold on the afflicted area. "One." She bites out.

The second lash comes. This one is harder, more powerful and painful. It stings on her bottom and she's glad she can't see the look on her aunt's face right now. Her cheek presses against the desk and she closes her eyes. "Two."

By the third lash, there are big, wholesome tears in Jenny's eyes. Her "Three" is said with a small, cracked voice. She's pretty sure that's the first lash that breaks skin. The headmistress' strokes are sharp and violent and resonate throughout Jenny's entire body.

"Four."

"Five."

"Six."

By the seventh lash of the riding crop, Jenny cries out and tears flow freely down her face and onto the desk. Jenny is sure that her sobs can be heard from outside the room, but knows there is no chance for salvation. No one will ever save her. She doesn't blame them.

It takes until after the sixteenth lash for the Trunchbull to stop, and Jenny is reduced to a sobbing mess. When her aunt unceremoniously releases her, the girl collapses to the ground, only careful enough to make sure she lands on her side and not her wounded bottom. "You are pathetic, Honey." Aunt Trunchbull spits down at her, "And you always will be."

The headmistress begins her strut towards the door when she pauses just short of it. "Afternoon classes begin in ten minutes. You have until then to… Collect, yourself and return to your classroom or further discipline will be necessary and I will be forced to permanently take over your position." She turns towards the door, then, remembering, back again. "I do hope you learned your lesson." Her solemn and severe face scowls at her, but there's a hint of satisfaction in it to. Jenny thinks she might throw up.

And though she feels nauseous, she forces it down as she stands up. Miss Honey uses the desk she was just forced over as a sturdy base and pulls herself up by the edge. She sways at first for a beat and tightly grips the wood to keep herself from falling over and causing herself more pain. She wants nothing more than a shower or to huddle up under the covers of her bed and read her favorite book. Jenny totally would just stalk back home, damaged and wounded, like a kicked puppy, if it weren't for her Aunt's last threat. She can't leave her students at her headmistress's mercy. As terrible as the Trunchbull is, she is good at coercing what she wants and seeing it through to execution.

So, instead of going to her cozy little cottage—her safe place—Jenny rushes back to her classroom. She only has ten minutes, after all.


	2. Chapter Two

Miss Honey stumbles into the teacher's bathroom feeling worse for wear, and locks the door behind her. She pushes off the door and drags herself to the sink and mirror. Jenny stares at herself in the reflection. Her strawberry blonde hair is damp and disheveled, and her gray-blue eyes red and swollen from crying. There's slight discolouration on her left cheekbone from where her face was shoved onto the desk, Jenny hopes it doesn't turn into a bruise.

After looking over her shoulder to make sure the door is locked, the teacher sighs as she sets her small duffel bag down beside the sink. She reaches behind her and unzips her dress, letting it fall to the floor around her feet. Jenny is careful to avoid looking at her body in the mirror. She does, however, force herself to discard her panties to inspect the damage on her bottom by the riding crop. There are several angry, red marks covering from her lower back to upper thighs. Some of them bleeding. Jenny rushes to wet some paper towels and press them delicately behind her. Though the cuts initially sting, they are eventually soothed enough so that she can dab away at the blood.

How did she find herself in such a terrible situation? Jenny feels like she asks herself this often. The teacher has nowhere to run to, nobody to help her. Her aunt made sure of this. Jenny desperately wishes she were brave enough to stand up to Aunt Trunchbull, but knows she never will be. As furious as her aunt makes her, the second she attempts to do something about it is the second she's crippled with fear. Jenny can prepare her words and a convincing argument to her heart's content, but she will cower away from her aunt every time.

But Matilda is different from her. Matilda is fearless. Matilda, a tiny girl of only five and a half, repeatedly outwits and openly revolts against the headmistress. Which makes her a target, in her aunt's eyes. Jenny sometimes wishes to pull Matilda back from her march to battle and whisper at her to obey the Trunchbull, but she's usually too afraid of being in the line of fire. Not that Matilda would listen to her anyway. The little girl evokes something in Miss Honey. She's everything the young woman wishes to be; brilliant, clever, strong. And, somewhere along the way, Miss Honey vowed to keep her that way. She would not let the little girl's fierceness and thirst for knowledge get stomped out or squandered at this school or by the girl's poor support at home. Jenny just hasn't figured out how to solve both their problems and protect the little girl. Not yet.

When her lashes have finally stopped bleeding, and after she's taken a wet paper towel to the insides of her legs, Jenny painfully bends over to pull fresh clothes out of her bag. Ever prepared for anything, the teacher has kept an extra set of clothes for herself in her desk-as well as an extra set for a boy and a girl that would fit an average child in her class-and in her three years of teaching, hasn't needed to use them. Before today, that is. She quickly pulls the light purple dress over her head and fits herself in some new underwear. The cotton rubs the angry cuts painfully, but there is not much else Jenny can do for herself right now. She imagines she'll have to stand for the rest of day, despite her exhaustion, and wants nothing more to crawl into her bed.

The teacher glances at her watch. She has a few more minutes before she must return to her classroom, face her students—who must know _something_ happened—and pretend like she isn't crumbling inside. Jenny splashes cold water on face and is reaching for a paper towel when she hears three soft raps on the door. Jenny clears her throat and steadies her voice so she can call out an even and strong, "Just a moment."

"Miss Honey?" A high voice asks through the door, "Are you alright?" It's Matilda. Jenny recognizes it almost immediately.

She rushes to the door and opens it to give her student a confident reassuring. "Oh, yes, Matilda. I'll be out in a moment."

But Jenny watches as Matilda's eyes flicker behind her, towards the sink where there are still bloodied paper towels and her old clothes are heaped in a pile on the floor. Miss Honey watches as Matilda's curiosity turns to worry and her eyebrows furrow the way they do when the little girl sees something she doesn't understand, which isn't very often. Miss Honey prays that she's thinking about something else or that she missed the contents of the bathroom but she knows that's not a real possibility. Matilda doesn't _miss_ anything.

However, Matilda presses her lips together and looks up to her teacher, who is holding steadfast to a warm smile, and nods. Miss Honey swiftly closes the door. She allows herself a beat, leaning against the wall with her shoulders, and collects herself with a single, deep inhale. Then she's off. The young woman gathers the bloody paper towels and throws them away, washes out the sink, and returns the dirty garments to her duffel bag before heading towards the door. Stopping with her hand on the knob, Jenny takes one final, fortifying breath and opens the door.

She had been hoping that Matilda would be gone when she came out so that she could have a couple more moments to prepare herself, but is surprisingly relieved to find the little girl sitting against the wall right outside the door. Miss Honey smiles down at the girl, trying to hide her sadness and nerves, and slings the duffel bag strap over her shoulder as they start down the hall together. Miss Honey knows that Matilda would definitely be the hardest to face. The girl's wise, knowing eyes seem to catch every single detail as if always surveying and cataloging the information around her, storing it for future reference. Miss Honey knows that the change of clothes was not unnoticed by her—though it likely will be to the rest of her students—and is grateful that Matilda picked up not to mention it.

As Jenny looks down at the girl walking beside her—so small, but so wise for her years—she realizes how selfish she's been. While she had been locked in the Chokey, her students were completely vulnerable to the headmistress' raw wrath all morning. She notices even her star pupil looks worn and weary, and realizes she doesn't know why.

"How was your lunch period?" Miss Honey opens the conversation. It was obvious that Matilda was attempting to give her teacher space, but is happy for the reopening of communication between them.

"I finished my book—" Matilda begins.

Miss Honey interrupts her, providing the title of the novel, "Slaughterhouse-Five." and reminding Matilda that she remembered the girl telling her about the first half of it this morning before class.

"Right," Matilda smiles, happy that her favorite teacher took note and remembered, then sobers again, "and then I started looking for you."

The teacher tenses at this and stops walking to face the child. "Matilda," She struggles to find the right words for an explanation, "I…"

"It's alright, Miss Honey." It's Matilda's turn to interrupt her teacher, "You don't have to."

 _'Make an excuse.' 'Tell me what happened.'_ Miss Honey supposes it doesn't make much difference what the girl meant, exactly, but she's grateful—yet again—for the girl's maturity and savoir faire. They walk in a mostly comfortable silence, though the hint of a tense undertone is still felt, before the teacher is compelled again into pursuing what she started and finding out what she needs to know.

"What did Miss Trunchbull do while I was gone?" Miss Honey blurts out. She prepares herself for the guilt and heartache the answer might bring. She must know the damage that had been done.

"She had us all do phys ed for a long time." Matilda rolls her left shoulder.

Though the teacher feels bad, she knows there are far worse things the older woman could do. "And how was that?"

"Not too terrible. Nigel had a minor asthma attack, but we got him to the nurse and he is alright." Matilda informs her teacher, nonchalant.

But Miss Honey knows better. Though she knows Matilda would never say it, Miss Honey knows that most of the children in her class can barely even pronounce 'asthma'. She imagines Nigel leaning over against the gym wall, wheezing, and Matilda stopping her run to check on him, before having someone—probably Nigel's best friend Tommy—escort him to the nurse.

"Was that all?" The teacher inquires further. Four hours is a long time for phys ed, even for the Trunchbull.

"When she finally let us rest, she gave us a spelling test." Matilda recounts, and her voice suddenly gains animation, "And, Miss Honey, you'd be so proud of Amanda! She spelled 'difficulty' correctly! Miss Trunchbull was so very surprised, and it's because you taught us that!"

A smile creeps onto the teacher's face, at Matilda's animation and her own pride for her students. Amanda had such an ironically difficult time spelling the word and Miss Honey made up a little song to help her and the rest of the class remember. It was effective. But she notices Matilda's face morph from lively and spirited to the girl's trademark outraged and impassioned frown.

"But she asked Lavender to spell 'newt'. Lavender didn't know it, and Miss Trunchbull threatened to throw her into Chokey. And that's not right, Miss Honey!" Matilda tells her teacher, not noticing the older woman's grimace at the threatened reprimand.

Obviously, Lavender didn't end up in the Chokey. "What happened to Lavender?"

"Nothing." Matilda shrugs.

Miss Honey furrows her eyebrows and looks down at the girl as they continue down the hallway. "'Nothing'?" There's no way the Trunchbull would just let a student off like that, she has to save face, at least.

"I spelled the word for her." Matilda admits. "Miss Trunchbull didn't put me in Chokey, though. She gave me another word—capitulate—and then another—obsequy—when I got the first right, which I also spelled correctly. I think she quizzed me with every word she knew. Finally, however, she tried to tell me I spelled 'supersede' incorrectly, which I didn't, and ended up storming off when Alice found a dictionary and proved me right."

Miss Honey smiles at Matilda's victory, but the happiness is short-lived as she remembers her aunt doesn't leave 'disrespect' unanswered, as well as what happened when the Trunchbull stormed away from her students to release Jenny from the Chokey. Miss Honey vows to be there when the headmistress inevitably comes for her student. "I'm very proud of you, Matilda. That was very brave to help your friends like you did." is all Miss Honey can manage. Matilda nods to her teacher, as if she was just doing what needed to be done—and while that is true, her teacher doesn't miss the small grin that graces the girl's features after the praise.

A beat of silence passes between the two before Matilda stops them outside of their classroom door. "I'm glad you're alright, Miss Honey. We were all very frightened for you."

The woman's stomach flips as the girl tells her this, as if releasing a burden the young woman's shoulders had been bearing. Though Jenny certainly does not feel alright, she's glad she's at least faking it well enough to convince her brightest student, even if not completely. She bends down and places a hand on the girl's shoulder, "Thank you, Matilda. That is very sweet of you." And guides the girl into the classroom before her.

Miss Honey smiles to her class, who looks as relieved by her return as she feels, and glances around the desks. She notes that Nigel is indeed back in his seat, and that Lavender's shirt has two large, muddy stains near the collar, undoubtedly from the headmistress. As she scans her students for more detail, she notices the expectant look on their faces and Miss Honey mentally kicks herself for not preparing how she would address her class in this situation. _Carefully_ , she decides.

The teacher stands in the front of the class, one arm across her stomach and one hand subconsciously fiddling with her necklace. Jenny wishes she could sit on her desk or hide behind it in the chair, but reminds herself of the pain—currently masked by her nervousness—and stands exposed in front of her children. She clears her throat. "First of all, I want to apologize for my absence." Apparently the headmistress used the Chokey as the main threat of force, despite the fact that it was already in use, which lead Jenny to believe the children weren't informed where she was. Probably part of the Trunchbull's fear tactics and disorientation. Jenny doesn't say anything more about where she was. "I did hear that you were put through some rather rigorous phys ed, and I am very happy to see you all persevered through." Miss Honey directs a tight-lipped smile to Nigel. Jenny hates having to tiptoe around the events with carefully selected words; there's not a lot she can say about what happened. But it's over now, and Miss Honey rather preserve the sunshine and security she's built within her classroom. "And Amanda," She calls to the little girl with bright blonde hair, "Congratulations on spelling 'difficulty'! I know you worked so hard on that." The little girl smiles in triumph.

"Since we've all had a rough start to our day, I was hoping that we could just review the four times tables we started yesterday, and take it easy for the rest of the afternoon. How does that sound?" No one verbally answers, but the relief and exhaustion written across her students' faces are more than enough of an answer.

As Miss Honey begins to write a few of the times tables on the chalk board at the front of the room, "Now, children, just like yesterday. We have four times three. Remember our steps, first we—" The door creaks open, to reveal her aunt harshly scanning her over and briefly the classroom, and Miss Honey struggles not to lose her focus, "First we state what we are trying to find out; four thirds is four three times, or three four times." When she looks to the door again, it is fully shut.

After she passes out the review sheet for the four times tables several minutes later, she surveys her classroom once again. Bruce looks as though he might cry at any moment, and Hortensia looks like she's falling asleep. Lavender is drawing with a purple crayon on the back of her paper, Tommy might actually be doing the work, and Alice and Amanda are whispering to each other while Eric is trying to tie his shoe in the back of the room. Matilda finished the problems moments after it was placed on her desk and is now pages into a new book. Usually, the teacher would walk along the isle and assist her students on their work and keep them focused, but today is different. Today she lets them do as they please, and they don't take advantage of it. Jenny is too tired to focus, as she imagines they are, and tries not to move much in her chair at her desk.

Miss Honey eventually forces herself up again to stand in front of her class. "Children," She calls their attention from their various activities, "If you promise to behave, you may all choose a book and line against the wall, and we'll go outside and have an outdoor reading afternoon. How does that sound?" Little smiles eagerly nod at her, careful to be quiet as to demonstrate their willingness to be quiet and well-behaved. Nigel and Hortensia need help picking out books, but after every student has a book in hand and is obediently lined against the wall single-file, Miss Honey leads her students to the front courtyard where her and her small class sit on the steps and read away the rest of the afternoon in the sun.


	3. Chapter Three

Miss Honey did not sleep much last night. The inflamed cuts on her backside forced her to sleep on her stomach, and she just could not get comfortable. The bath she soaked in before she laid in bed was nice, though. She could feel the hot water unravel her muscles, leaving her at least more relaxed than earlier. It was difficult to manage with the lash marks on her back, but the girl furiously scrubbed herself of any possible sweat, dirt, and probably outer layers of skin. Jenny just felt like she couldn't get clean after her aunt touched her. The young woman had decided to shower in the morning too, even though she was still clean. She didn't dare use the hot water then, knowing how furious her aunt would be if she didn't have enough for her shower. Besides, the freezing water efficiently awoke and energized the girl after a long night.

Finding a comfortable pair of panties that allowed her to move with the least pain proved to be quite difficult, but Jenny eventually accomplished this and dressed herself in her favorite dress that's pastel yellow and has little flowers on it. She had been running late and, after hurriedly packing her aunt's lunch, had to rush out the door only having time to grab some crackers and a banana from the fruit bowl. Jenny knew she'd regret not packing a lunch, but it wasn't worth still being downstairs when her aunt comes in. And here Jenny is, almost to the end of the school day, exhausted from lack of sleep and hungry from running out on packing a lunch. These feelings, however, are not unfamiliar to the school teacher.

"Miss Honey, are you feeling alright?" Matilda distracts her favorite teacher from her thoughts.

Jenny instantly pulls a smile to her face. This is the second day in a row she's let her guard down around the girl, enough for her to pick up on her weakness. But today is a new day, and she has a responsibility to protect and care for the children in her class. _That_ is what's right now. _They_ are what really matter. "Of course, dear. What do you need?"

"I finished my assignment." Matilda lays the papers on the desk in front of her teacher.

Ever since Miss Trunchbull refused Miss Honey's initial request to move Matilda to the top form with the eleven year olds, the teacher was disappointed for her student.

_"There is, in my class that is, a new student named Matilda-" Jenny begins, only to be interrupted._

_"Ah yes, Matilda Wormwood. Her mother Colleen enrolled her here. Nice lady. Said the girl was a real wart." The headmistress continues writing in her binder._

_"Oh, no, Miss Trunchbull. I don't think Matilda is that type of child at all-" She tries to object._

_"What is the school motto, Jen?" Miss Trunchbull demands._

_The teacher stands up straight as she recites the school motto that has been drilled into her almost her whole life. "Bambinatum est maggitum."_

_"Bambinatum est maggitum," Miss Trunchbull repeats then translates, "Children are maggots."_

_"But Miss Trunchbull, Matilda Wormwood is a very sweet girl, and_ very _bright!"_

_"Nonsense, haven't I just told you that_ all _children are gangsters?"_

_"Matilda is different, she knows her times tables!"_

_"So she's learned a few tricks." The headmistress dismisses._

_"But she can_ read _!" The teacher implores._

_Miss Trunchbull faces her subordinate, who is forcing herself to remain brave, "So can I."_

_Miss Honey is put off by this, and it takes her a moment of stuttering to find words again, "I have to tell you, headmistress, that it is my opinion that Matilda would be much happier in a more advanced class, most likely the top form, with the eleven year olds."_

_"What sort of society would that be? 'With the eleven year olds'. What about_ rules _, Honey?" The headmistress picks up a ruler from her desk and slaps it in her hand._

_Jenny flinches so that her arms briefly protects her face, before clenching her fists at her side and conjuring the last of her strength. For Matilda. "I believe... That Matilda Wormwood is... an_ exception _, to the rules." She suggests, but the desperation slips through her voice and is easily detected._

_"I knew it!" Her aunt had barked back at her, the instant change of pace disorienting, "You couldn't handle the squib, so you're trying to shove her off to one of the other teachers. This is so typical of you Jen, I knew you couldn't do it."_

_"No, no, no," The teacher remains steadfast in denial, ignoring the hurtful remarks to be dealt with later, "That's not it at all-"_

_"It's all about perspiration, Jen." Miss Trunchbull grabs Jenny's thin hand and forces the back-up riding crop in her hand. "You must discipline the maggots, get rid of the stench of rebellion. If you can't handle the little brat, then I'll send the girl to Chokey." Miss Trunchbull puppets her niece's hand to slap the riding crop against the door of the torture chamber, then turns to face her. "Understand?"_

_Jenny stares at the horrific notion in her hand, before gripping it at her side and looking to her headmistress, "Yes, ma'am."_

_"This is for your own good, Jen, a lesson you've long needed to not be so pathetic." The large woman pauses to let the insult sink in for maximum effect, before grabbing her niece's shoulders and shoving her towards the door, "Now get out."_

_Jenny left the office firm in a decision. She throws the riding crop in a trash can._

Jenny shivers at the rest of the memory from the first day of school. Since her attempt to move Matilda to a more appropriate class along with her recent attempt to secure textbooks for the girl had both failed, Miss Honey had decided on another course of action. Miss Honey would be personally responsible for feeding her student the material she needs to grow. No one else would do it, so it must be her; Jenny refuses to see Matilda slip through the cracks and waste away to nothing, become nothing. But the kindergarten teacher knew very little of higher education, having only attended the local two-year technical college for a degree in teaching. Fortunately, Miss Honey was passionate and dedicated to providing for Matilda; and Miss Honey was very, very, clever.

The teacher knew from the beginning that her kindergarten class, however socially stimulating for Matilda, would never come close to satiating her need to learn. Miss Honey figured the only solution would be to give extra assignments to Matilda on different topics that she can complete on her own while the rest of the class learns the lesson the teacher prepared from grade-level curriculum. It's not really fair to single her out and make her learn on her own, but the teacher doesn't think Matilda will mind, especially since it will come with permission for an extra trip to the meager school library every day, after lunch. Miss Honey assigned Matilda with her first supplemental instruction—SI as she calls it in her mind—this morning on the different parts and uses of the brain, due tomorrow afternoon.

Miss Honey doesn't hide the smile that comes with Matilda's unsurprising over-achievement. As flips through the pages, she raises a mischievous eyebrow over the top rim of her glasses at her student. "The assignment was three pages."

"The brain is so fascinating, I thought anything less than seven would be an injustice." Matilda gives a cheeky, equally-mischievous grin back. The brilliant child, as Miss Honey is quickly discovering, also has a sense of humor, and it's as unique as she is.

"Thank you, Matilda, you may return to your seat and read your book—which one are you on now?" The teacher asks. She had brainstormed a list last night, when she couldn't sleep, of books that Matilda would enjoy or find significance in, along with a few of her own favorites sprinkled in.

Matilda's smile is wide and shows her teeth. _"The Color_ _Purple_ by Alice-"

"Alice Walker." Miss Honey finishes. One of her very favorites; such an inspiring novel.

The young girl smiles as she nods and turns towards her seat, and her teacher is pleased to see the girl livelier and happier than in the few weeks she's had her in class so far. This validates Miss Honey; she will help Matilda. She'll do whatever she can. As the teacher looks down at Matilda's first SI, she realizes she doesn't really know what level Matilda is at. Knowing what grade level her learning is on could help Miss Honey figure out what to teach her next. If the five-year-old has the cognitive abilities of a ninth grader—for example-, she can look at the curriculum through the ninth grade, fill in the gaps of material Matilda doesn't know, and be able to teach her according to what other ninth graders are learning. Also included with other things Miss Honey thinks Matilda ought to learn, of course. Knowing what grade Matilda is learning on could also be important for the future. Miss Honey would like to know how long it might be until Matilda can graduate high school and look at higher education. The idea of a five-year-old preparing for college is almost unfathomable. But this is Matilda, and the little girl is a miracle. A placement test is at least a starting point until she can figure out a better way to help the brilliant child.

Matilda had only gotten a few steps away when she hears her teacher call her back to the desk at the front of the room where she sits. "Yes, Miss Honey?" The girl clasps her hands in front of her as she soaks up every second of kindness and interest her teacher shows her. She knows she's certainly not guaranteed it anywhere else.

"Would you like to go to the library with me this afternoon? I think I have an idea of how I can help you."

The words flood the little girl with excitement, because they carry such importance. First of all, she loves the library; it's her favorite place in the whole world, besides her favorite person's classroom. Even the thought of going to her favorite place _with_ her favorite person makes her happy. Secondly, the words mean that Miss Honey wants to help her. She knows that her teacher has already fought some battles for her—yesterday, with the books, for example—and Matilda had been worried after seeing the way Miss Honey was acting when she came back yesterday that her teacher wouldn't like her anymore. Matilda had always been such a burden. Though it certainly surprised her that her teacher seemed to take special interest in her from the beginning, Matilda was astounded to the point of confusion of why the teacher would want to help her even after the negative consequences that became for something that was her fault. Matilda remembers the scene from yesterday morning vividly.

_The bell rings when the little girl was standing in front of her teacher's desk, adamantly discussing her theories on her current book, ending the conversation. Miss Honey praises her on her thoughtful insight as she leads her to desk, located right behind the girl's best friend Lavender._

_"Good morning, Miss Honey!" Matilda hears Lavender wish as Matilda sits in her seat and begins to unpack the composition notebook and two pencils that her teacher had given her into her desk._

_"Good morning, Lavender." Miss Honey says gently, like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise dreary morning, before addressing the rest of the class. "And good morning, class."_

_"Good morning, Miss Honey." The all smile up at her, which she returns down to them._

_"Today is going to be a great day! We're going to start it off by writing in our journals. I would like you to write one,_ full _, sentence about your favorite person and why you love them. It can be your father, your best friend, the librarian; anyone!" The teacher conveys the assignment with the energy and significance that only teachers who are passionately in love with their job can achieve._

_Nigel raises his hand, "Can I write about my pet parrot, Fred?"_

_This elicits chuckles from around the room, Miss Honey included. "I would prefer a person, but Nigel, if your heart is set on writing about Fred the parrot, write away."_

_Another hand pops up. It's Alice this time. "Miss Honey, can we please draw a picture too?"_

_"Oh, yes! Please, class, draw a picture of you and your favorite person." Miss Honey is delighted by the idea._

_The class begins their assignment. Matilda doesn't need to stop and ponder over who her favorite person—or pet, apparently—is like the other students in her class. In clear and precise handwriting, Matilda scribes:_

**_Miss Honey is my favorite person in the world._ **

_But she can't find the words to describe exactly why yet, so she pulls out her colored pencils from her desk instead, and begins her drawing of herself and Miss Honey sitting under a tree reading a book together. Matilda knows that if she just mulls over the ideas in her head for a little while, the exact words will come to her. And, suddenly, it does. Well, kind of. The word that comes to mind when Matilda thinks of Miss Honey is warm; but it's more than that. She needs to consult an old friend of her's; the thesaurus._

_Matilda rises from her seat and crosses the distance between her desk and Miss Honey's, a path she could easily take blindfolded by now. "Miss Honey?" Matilda waits until her teacher pauses reading her book to look up at the girl through round glasses and a slightly agape mouth, "May I borrow the thesaurus?"_

_"Of course." Miss Honey closes her book, reaches into a drawer in her desk, and lays the old thesaurus in front of her student. She watches Matilda flip through the pages with purpose, "Looking for a specific word?" Miss Honey is always interested in catching a glimpse into Matilda's fascinating frame of thought._

_"I can manage." Matilda dismisses, contently skimming the text. She is looking for something close to 'warm' or 'kind', but she can't quite put her finger on it._

_"Before you leave, I was going to give these to you after the class warm up," Miss Honey bends behind her desk and returns with several large textbooks, "But since you're already here…"_

_"Are these for me?" Matilda's eyes light up._

_"To borrow, yes. I borrowed them myself, so be extra careful with them. I just thought that you could study these and complete the SI assignments while I teach the rest of the children, so you can be extra productive." Miss Honey notices the incredulity on her student's face—as if this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for her—but is just happy she could do something helpful for the child._

_Just as Matilda is reaching for the books, the door flies open. Matilda snatches her hands, empty, back to her sides as Miss Honey immediately stands to her feet. The room falls silent and not even Miss Honey can force words from her mouth. From inside the doorway, the Trunchbull takes note of the large stack of books on the front desk and feigns a lackadaisical survey of the room._

_"It seems," The woman strolls towards the center of the room, towards Miss Honey's desk, "That some books have gone missing from my office." Miss Honey puts herself between the headmistress and her student, and—once Matilda is hidden behind her body—gently pushes the girl with a sneaky hand back towards her own desk. Matilda understands the notion and rushes back to her desk as her teacher stiffly stands off with the headmistress at the front of the classroom. The little girl feels like a horrified member of an audience, useless to affect the action in front of them, yet condemned to watch._

_"Have you, by chance, seen them, Jen?" The Headmistress taunts. She takes a few more steps towards the teacher and looks like she might simply bulldoze through the smaller woman, until Jenny has the sense to jump out of the way. The Trunchbull was after her books, and now that they're found, they'll be hell to pay. "The titles are;_ The History of the Revolutionary War for Fifth Form, Life Science for Sixth Form, Sixth Form Algebra One, Eighth Form Geometry." _She read down the stack of books sitting on the teacher's desk._

_Jenny's eyes flicker to her students then back to Miss Trunchbull's boots. "Well, Honey, don't just stand there like a wet tissue; speak!"_

_The barked order causes the teacher to jump and gasp, melting the ice in her throat keeping her from responding. "Headmistress, there really is a very good reason—"_

_"Oh I'm sure I'll hear all about it." The Trunchbull loudly grumbles, disgusted. She leans forward, closing the space between herself and her subordinate, and takes a firm grasp of Jenny's arm. The pain from the sheer strength of the grip shoots all over Miss Honey's arm, and expels a heavy gasp from her mouth._

_"Please, headmistress…" Jenny whimpers only loud enough so that her superior can hear her._

_"Quiet, Jen." The older woman shoves the younger into the door frame then forcefully holds her against it, Jenny's resistance futile and unnoticed by her huge aunt, and the Trunchbull turns to bellow a final threat at the class, "If I hear one of you maggots_ breathe _, or see one minuscule detail moved when I get back, you'll all regret the miserable day you were brought onto this earth."_

_Matilda watches, heartbroken, as her teacher's arms fail as she is thrown from the room. The girl can't imagine how she stayed on her feet after such a forceful shove, but concludes that the headmistress kept a hold of her and dragged her along the hallway, towards her office, most likely. The thought of her teacher being maltreated and bullied infuriates the small girl, and suddenly the classroom door slams with such mighty force that the sound echoes throughout the class of stunned six year olds._

_The brave little girl has half the mind to charge down the hall and scream at her headmistress for the injustice she practices. Matilda knows that it's her own fault that Miss Honey is in her current situation. If it hadn't been for her, Miss Honey would've never "borrowed" the books, and Miss Trunchbull would've never caught her with the contraband. As unfair and frustrating as the situation is, Matilda stays put. Not because she can't leave, or because she's afraid of the Trunchbull, but because Miss Trunchbull said she's coming back, and it didn't sound like her teacher would be with the woman. So Matilda silently vowed to take over the class while Miss Honey is gone and stop the Trunchbull from hurting anyone else, though Matilda is devastated she couldn't help the first. Matilda finishes her journal entry._

**_Miss Honey is loving._ **


	4. Chapter Four

**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Four**

**A/N: In this story, Matilda is mostly a mix of the book, movie, and musical, with some parts of her story borrowed from Annie. This is really when the Annie part starts to play in.**

* * *

The rest of the afternoon flies by for the little girl, as she excitedly waits for the day to be over so Matilda and Miss Honey can go to the library. She's so distracted, in fact, that she hardly reads after she turned in her assignment. Finally, the dismissal bell rings throughout Crunchem Hall and Matilda stays behind as the rest of her classmates say goodbye to their teacher and rush out the door. "Matilda, honey, I'll only need a moment to finish these grades if you would shut the blinds for me." Miss Honey smiles at the girl over her glasses.

Matilda nods as she finishes shifting the items from her desk to her backpack, then closes the blinds on all the windows before standing beside her teacher's desk. "Thank you, dear." Miss Honey notes when she realizes the girl is done. The young woman stands from her desk and closes her folders of grades. That last assignment she was grading was a real doozy. It was Lavender's, and ended up with more than a few pink corrective marks across it. Miss Honey considers having Matilda try a new approach with the girl about the difference between 'b's and 'd's and 'p's.

"Are you ready to go?" Miss Honey asks, slipping the folder into her top desk drawer and her glasses into her cardigan pocket.

"Yes, Miss Honey." The girl smiles up at her teacher.

The woman gives her a tight-lipped, but happy, grin and offers her hand, which the little girl readily accepts. Once Miss Honey closes the classroom door behind them, the two girls walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk to the local library, a path they're both very familiar with. Matilda chatters on discussing what she learned that day about the human brain and its miraculous functions and parts, while Miss Honey listens interestedly. Listening to the young girl is miraculous in itself, she thinks, and Matilda is so vivid and precise when she is speaking about something she finds interesting—which is most everything. Miss Honey doesn't mind just bouncing ideas back to the girl; she's grateful for it, actually. It's refreshing.

They reach their destination too soon and both are disappointed by it. As soon as they walk through the door, Mrs. Phelps—the librarian—is at the front desk to greet them. Miss Honey now stands tall enough to prop her elbows on the counter, and smiles fondly down at Matilda who can't see over the edge even while standing on her tip-toes. "What a sight for sore eyes, you two are!" Mrs. Phelps exclaims as she affectionately pats the teacher's arm. Secretly, the woman—now well in to old age—has always felt protective and somewhat responsible for Jenny. The librarian remembers when the girl was much younger, when her father was alive, that she got her first library card. The girl must've been only five or six, but Magnus had been determined to give his daughter the gift of imagination and other-worldliness that only books can provide. Seeing the little girl come in to this library at least twice a week—sometimes much more, and sometimes skipping several weeks, however rare—and watching her grow into the beautiful and kind young woman that she has become, despite her upbringing, has made Mrs. Phelps into a guardian of this safe place for the teacher. A role that she takes very seriously. A role that is similarly provided to Matilda. Watching Jenny and Matilda enter the library together, knowing that they found each other, consummates the librarian's duty and satiates her worries for the girls.

"Another story, Matilda?" Mrs. Phelps stands to see the child over the counter of the grand front desk.

"I'm afraid I can't today, Mrs. Phelps. I've got to take a test!" Matilda lively tells her. Though Matilda is not the type to get behind on assignments—and definitely not to have need for retests—Mrs. Phelps wonders what she means, but doesn't ask. She knows the child doesn't appreciate her prying.

Mrs. Phelps waves goodbye to the pair as they venture further into the library. An hour later, she goes to check on them and finds them in the corner of the famous poets' section—Jennifer Honey's known favorite—with Matilda in the middle of some sort of examination and Jenny in the middle of some book. She doesn't interrupt them and returns to complete the literary catalog on her desk.

It's just after six o'clock when the teacher and student emerge from the back of the library, looking a little worse for wear. "Good evening, Mrs. Phelps." Matilda waves to the librarian on their way to the door.

"Good evening, Matilda." The librarian smiles fondly to the little girl, before sobering to stop the woman, "Jenny, dear." She waits for the younger woman, and therefore the girl too, to slow and pause in front of the front desk, "Good luck tomorrow. I know how hard the day is for you. I'll have tea waiting for you when you come by."

Jenny looks at her shoes for a moment before remembering she needs to respond, she gives a reserved, curt nod while pursing her lips and frowning, "Thank you." She forces a bright smile. "Have a good evening, Mrs. Phelps."

The librarian wants to remind the girl to call her by her first name, once again, that the title is far too formal for their relationship. But she doesn't, because she knows the young woman is far too polite. She'll pursue the matter later; on a day that isn't so close to tomorrow.

Jenny had almost forgotten what day tomorrow is, with all the chaos recently. Like every year, she'll call in sick to school in the morning and it'll be the one day of the year that her aunt shows her any sort of humanity, though she doubts that's really the reason Jenny is permitted to miss class this day every year.

"What day is tomorrow?" Matilda asks as they walk down the sidewalk of the main street of town. Miss Honey had offered to walk her home, since it was getting late. The girl is anxious for her teacher to see where she lives and is desperate to deflect the anxiety. Although Miss Honey definitely seems more like a spring baby, Matilda hopes that tomorrow is her teacher's birthday and that they can celebrate it; she's already brainstorming ideas for a birthday card Matilda can make. She can borrow some of the special colored crayons that come in the big box of 100—Lavender has a set—and she'll draw sunshine and flowers and them both, of course. The message on the inside of the card can be something like "Happy birthday to a happy teacher" and have a picture of them both smiling, or maybe "hap-bee birthday" and draw a pot of _honey_. She could surely find glitter for it, too.

"Tomorrow is the anniversary of my father's death." Miss Honey's voice cracks on the last word, but she manages to keep herself calm. She knew the little girl would ask once she heard what Mrs. Phelps said, and had been fighting to stay okay ever since.

"Oh." Matilda is surprised. She knows that she ought to respect her teacher's privacy, but she can't help herself. She cares too much about Miss Honey to let it go and dismiss her curiosity. She compromises on a gentle, "What happened to him?"

Miss Honey doesn't have the heart to lie or shut down her student's inquiries. And, honestly, she wants to talk about it to Matilda. She realizes she's barely even vocalized any thoughts about her father to anyone. "He… He passed away, when I was almost six."

Matilda's mind wonders to how her teacher grew up. Had her mother remarried? Or was it just Miss Honey and her mother, and idea that fascinates the little girl. Matilda fantasizes about what Miss Honey's mother was like; she pictures her with the same golden hair and soft disposition, and is so lost in painting this beautiful picture of Miss Honey's family that she almost walks by her own building. "This is it." Matilda suddenly states, stopping the duo and allowing Miss Honey to fully scan over the building. It's odd to the teacher that the girl lives in a building downtown and not in a quiet little home like she expected someone of Matilda's brilliance to come from. "Thanks for walking me home." Is the little girl's curt statement before she starts up the tall cement stairs.

"Oh," Miss Honey exclaims, mostly to stop the girl from leaving so quickly, "Let me walk you in. I'd love to meet your mother." Miss Honey imagines an older mother, several years older than herself, that will take a few moments to answer the door because she's baking cookies in the kitchen.

"She's _not_ my mother." Matilda states—ubiquitously, to her teacher—but turns to open the door for them both anyway.

"I'm home." The little girl announces to the house, then waves her teacher in.

Miss Honey is thoroughly surprised to see a fairly large house, and that it is in a general state of uncleanliness not well suited for children, and suddenly her student's perpetual bed-head makes since. However poised and overall cleanly Matilda is—despite her messy hair—her family obviously does not share the same values.

" _Finally_!" A scratchy female voice calls as footsteps approach down the main hall. "Where have you _been_ , you—" A disheveled mess turns the corner and sees the demure, straight-laced, and subtly beautiful young woman just in time to change her wordage, "darling gift from God." A cheeky, tight-lipped, eager smile follows as she eyes the younger woman, "I'm Colleen Hannigan, the child's mother." She reaches forward and grabs Miss Honey's hand to shake it, which the other woman doesn't have much other choice than to accept.

"Foster mother." Matilda mumbles just loud enough for the women to hear.

Miss Hannigan absentmindedly pushes the girl towards the stairs as her eyes are still locked on the visitor, "You are?"

"I'm Jennifer Honey," She tentatively retracts her hand, uncomfortable but remaining polite, "I'm Matilda's teacher."

Colleen Hannigan's smiles disappears. "We aren't open to visitors right now."

"Of course. I apologize for barging in, I was just—" Jennifer Honey was hoping to discuss her student's academic needs, and although the foster mom is less preferable, the teacher was attempting to make due before she's interrupted by the woman's arms around her, guiding her to the door.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Chutney, but it's so late, as you know. Darling Matilda has so many chores she must be doing…" The woman glares back at the girl, who had been watching from the center staircase and now scatters up them.

Miss Honey surprises even herself— _especially_ herself—when she pushes the woman's arms from her and turns to face her directly. They are in close proximity, and the woman doesn't stop trying to eject the teacher from the house. "Miss Hannigan, I just wanted to speak to you about Matilda—"

Miss Hannigan ignores her, " _Please_ do come by another time, though." She says as she cracks the front door open only slightly and guides the scrawny woman through, suddenly excommunicating Jenny to the front stoop.

Jenny has one more attempt in her, "Miss, I really think it's a good idea for—"

"Thanks for coming by." The woman scans down the teacher's body one last time before slamming the door, almost touching Jenny's face.

Letting out a defeated sigh, Jenny walks down the steps. On the side walk, she looks over the building one final time, committing its demeanor and location to memory as where Matilda lives. She catches sight of movement in one of the third floor windows and spots Matilda waving down at her. Remembering her purpose, Jenny waves back up at the girl. "I'll figure out your test." The teacher makes silent exaggerated syllables so her student can read her lips.

"Thank you." Matilda gives a tight-lipped smile and a goodbye wave.

Jenny is about to communicate back something encouraging or sweet that Matilda would appreciate, so that their day ends on a happy note, but she watches in helpless distress as an arm reaches the little girl and spins her around roughly. The curtain is swiftly pulled shut, leaving the teacher discomfited but unable to help. She walks home.


	5. Chapter Five

**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"Matilda!"

The little girl hears Miss Hannigan shout her full name while climbing up the stairs, which means she's in trouble, but she finds herself staring down out the window at her teacher anyway, Miss Honey looks like she was going to say something else.

"Matilda!" Miss Hannigan yanks her from the window and makes the girl face her directly. "What the _hell_ where you doing out so late?"

Miss Hannigan releases the girl, exasperated, and expectantly looks at her for an attempt at an answer. Matilda doubts anything will doubt the woman. "I was with Miss Honey. We were at the library."

The older woman scoffs at this. "And what would _she_ want with _you_?" The jab is intended, but it's a serious question, accusing, suspicious.

Matilda understands what she's really asking. "She just had me take a test, that's all. It was like a placement test, for school."

The relief that Matilda's admittance guarantees a social worker won't come knocking on their door tonight floods the woman. She knew Matilda wouldn't be stupid enough to mention anything about the foster home anyway. The girl has nowhere else to go; if the home was shut down, her and all her little friends would be forced on the street. At least Miss Hannigan puts a roof over their heads and some food in their bellies; they ought to be grateful instead of whining, lazy little snots. "Go 'head. You've got chores. Go'n." Miss Hannigan pushes the little girl towards the door of the girls' room, followed by a swat on her bottom, and Matilda stops by her room to slip into her only other dress before her light footsteps trot down the wooden steps.

"Tillie, you're home!" Molly jumps up from the floor to leap into Matilda's arms. Molly just turned four and is very excitable.

"Yeah, sorry. I had school work to finish." Matilda hugs the little girl.

"Less than a month in and you're already staying after school." Pepper shakes her head.

Matilda ignores her. "What are you guys working on?" She looks over the six girls in various positions across the floor.

"I'm drawin' a picture." Molly proudly displays her artistic masterpiece; a sunshine of yellow crayon.

"Doin' some homework. And I think Tessa is fixin' your socks." Duffy provides.

Tessa stands and hands Matilda her pair of socks. "Just finished. I'd avoid those bushes from now on, if I were you."

"Thank you." Matilda does another scan of the room. "Kate, are you finished with your homework?" The seven-year-old nods. "Good. You and Molly are going to help me fix dinner."

It is a conjoined effort by Molly and Kate to return their crayons to their box, but occurs with minimal incident and Matilda leads them to the kitchen down the hall. The orphans in this foster home have adopted the 'divide and conquer' method under the direction of the five-year-old Matilda, at least for the evening chores. When they get home from school, Pepper and Duffy collect dirty clothes, wash them, then fold them. July sweeps, Tessa cleans or scrubs anything that's not a floor, and Kate is in charge of dishes and prepping the meal. Molly mainly is there to help anyone that needs it, or must cater to Miss Hannigan if she requests anything. Matilda does literally everything else, which might include taking out the trash, making beds, getting mail, negotiating a grocery list with Miss Hannigan, or helping the other girls. Usually, though, Matilda does her part in cooking. It's her that makes dinner every evening, packs a lunch every morning, and sets out a quick breakfast every night before. After chores, they have homework and can usually play outside if it's not dark yet. The girls keep busy.

Based on the items in the pantry today, Matilda decides they'll have grilled cheese. It's the best she thinks she can manage with being so exhausted, and it's one of the rare days they are fully stocked with cheese and bread. "Kate, get the butter and cheese. Molly, bread." Matilda calls out orders as she pulls three frying pans from under the oven. Matilda doesn't have the patience nor time to bang out nine sandwiches individually, so she'll have to do multiple at a time. The younger girls do as they're told and have the items out and ready so that Matilda only needs to swipe the butter on the bread then lay the cheese between two slices before throwing it on the hot pans.

"Molly, will you put this one on the last pan?" Matilda hands the last buttered cheese sandwich of that first batch to the four-year-old distractedly, her mind racing to prepare the rest so that she only has to throw them on the pans when the first round is finished. Matilda happens to look back just in time to see Molly reach too close to the hot stove, and snatches the young girl's hand millimetres away from being burned, saving the girl's delicate skin.

"Molly! You have got to be more careful! The stove is hot; you could've been burned." Matilda scolds after she releases the little hand. But when little Molly's eyes fill with tears that threaten to cascade down her face, Matilda feels guilty for the harsh snapping, though she knows was justified. "I'm sorry I snapped, Molly." The older girl hugs the younger before returning to her duties.

"Kate, will you get out the paper plates. Molly, you get the napkins." Is Matilda's next round of commands, to which the girls immediately obey. They know that listening to Tillie is just going to get things done faster and better, which means less chance of them having to repeat an assigned chore.

Matilda had just put the third round of sandwiches on the stove and had been directing Kate to come transfer the recently finished batch to the children's eating table, when the girl hears the shattering. Behind Matilda, Molly had tried to grab one of the paper plates to take to the table when she hit the glass of wine that had been perched on the edge for Matilda to bring to Miss Hannigan when the meal was ready.

Now, the wine glass is shattered to hundreds of pieces on the wooden floor and a deep crimson puddle surrounds it. Matilda's first reaction is to grab Molly and pull her away from it, so her little bare feet don't step on any glass pieces and become cut on them. She tries to keep her voice calm and free from irritation or grumpiness as she orders the two other girls back and to finish readying the meal, then grabs the closest hand rag to begin soaking up the dark liquid.

"Matilda, what did you _do_?" Miss Hannigan gasps as she stands over the girl.

_"I didn't do it!"_ Her mind screams at her to deny, but Matilda knows that would implicate Kate, or most likely Molly, and they'd get punished for it. It was Matilda's fault, ultimately; she hadn't been supervising the littlest girl properly. She settles on a convincing, "I dropped it. I'm sorry."

"Oh, you'll be sorry alright."

* * *

"You didn't have to say it was you, ya know." Molly's little voice comes from the bathroom doorway.

"Yeah, I know." Matilda pulls another small piece of glass from her hair. "But I was responsible, so it was my punishment to take." And really, the little girl has had worse, but she doesn't want to mention it to Molly. The four-year-old is too new here and it would only scare her. It wouldn't have been right if Matilda had let the smaller girl get punished for something she was too young to be responsible for.

But what happened, happened, and it's over now. All they can do now is pickup from the aftermath. "Well, thanks Tillie." Matilda nods as she brushes her fingers across the left side of her face and winces. "Do you want me to go get July to help?"

Matilda wants to say no, that she can do it herself, but she knows she can't. The mirror in the bathroom off their room is old and foggy. It's the main reason the girls all go to school with messy, nappy hair every day. "Yes, Molly. That'd be nice."

A minute later, July is sitting in front of Matilda with a set of tweezers they 'borrowed' from Miss Hannigan's room. The older girl of nine years and dirty blonde hair doesn't say much initially as she picks the little shards of class from the cuts on Matilda's face. But, eventually, she says what they're both thinking. "She's getting worse."

Matilda knows exactly what July is referring to. Ever since Miss Hannigan's long-time on-and-off-again boyfriend Bert broke it off for good and moved two states away, the woman has been going off the deep end. She drinks more heavily than she already did and only gets out of the building to go grocery shopping. Bert, the mailman, and Matilda were particularly friendly—as Matilda is a friendly, intelligent girl who most adults just adore to talk to—and Matilda theorizes that friendship is why Miss Hannigan seems to have it out for her recently. Matilda's courage and cleverness have indeed been the source of many mischievous schemes and naughty pranks in her time in the home, so it's not as if Miss Hannigan had ever had a particularly easy time with her. But the foster mom did seem to have a certain simultaneous fondness of the girl, as she—even at five—radiates brilliance and maturity that makes it difficult to not be drawn towards her.

Tonight, Miss Hannigan was drawn to her with an empty beer bottle in hand. When it smashed against her face, tiny slivers inserted themselves in the lacerations while a good bit of the glass pieces crashed to the ground, where Matilda was made to stand for an hour. The little girl was carried by Duffy and July to the bathroom where she now sits.

Matilda, even with her high tolerance for pain, hisses as July pulls out an especially big shard from above her eyebrow. "I know." July whispers.

Although Matilda is usually the prime target for Miss Hannigan's wrath, for reasons aforementioned, the rest of the girls haven't quite gotten away unscathed. Pepper forgot to dry some clothes all the way last week and was made to walk around in soggy clothes all day. Tessa didn't make her bed before she left for school, so Miss Hannigan was just going to make her sleep in her bed without sheets, but then Tessa cried—which always makes everything worse—and ended up sleeping on the front stoop two nights ago.

Matilda knows she must do something, and soon. She needs to protect her friends; she just hasn't figured out exactly how. Yet.


	6. Chapter Six

---  
  
**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

Jennifer thinks back on the roller coaster the last few days have been. So much of yesterday still feels like a fresh wound, broken and tender, but in an odd way also like a very distant memory. However it feels, the young woman is glad that it's over and has seemingly granted a few days' pardon with her aunt, something she will not take for granted.

Jenny places her fresh mug of hot tea on the window sill and drops the towel surrounding her. After the brief grimace that looking at her marred skin in the mirror inspires, the girl slips herself in the tub. The steaming water ensconces her and opens her mind to allow the girl to think clearly for the first time uninhibited by the chaos of the past several days.

She lets her mind wonder to the student that's been so central in her life recently. It is surprising to the teacher that Matilda is from a foster home. The immediate shock of the revelation has surpassed and now leaves the woman with confusion and a sense of awe. Not that she had extensive interaction with the foster mom, but Miss Hannigan hadn't seemed like the type to encourage further learning or stimulate the mind. Miss Honey wonders how Matilda learned to read so young, since there was no apparent help from a caretaker. Maybe Matilda is a fairly recent addition to the foster system, or maybe she is new to only Miss Hannigan's care, after having been provided with attention and support by a loving guardian in her earlier years. Or maybe the little girl just taught herself how to read. Though Miss Honey has never seen anyone as bright and intelligent as Matilda in her few years teaching, any of these possibilities as to what or who gave her this brilliance make the little girl's story even more heartbreaking.

Miss Honey was lucky. Her father had read to her often when she was very little, and had placed a book in her hands when she was three. Jenny had received guidance on how to identify letters to make syllables, and then how to pronounce the syllables to figure out new words. Her father used to point at the smallest words and Jenny would provide it aloud, usually followed by congratulations from her father. Eventually, he could scan a finger just under the line of words and Jenny would sound out the words until she completed the entire sentence. Occasionally, though, she would get stuck and her father would be right there, ready with assistance. Jenny fondly remembers the very first book she read, she was four.

_**"Morning light.** _

**_Warm and bright,_ **

**_In the trees,_ **

**_Honey bees!"_ **

_The little girl read before she flipped the book closed. Honey bees were special to the little girl and her father, a fond connection they shared in association with their last name. It was fitting that the girl's favorite and first book would be about the bees._

_"Great job, my little bumblebee! You finished your first book!" Magnus Honey set the book aside so that he may wrap his arms around his daughter and hug her affectionately. He then lays her to the side in his arms so that they may look at each other. "What do you say to some ice cream to celebrate?" Magnus can't help the smile that grows on his face as he watches the little girl's eyes grow wide with disbelief and excitement. "Go get your shoes, bumblebee, and we'll go right now."_

_The trip to the ice cream shop a couple blocks down the street wasn't particularly eventful in itself, but the girl and her father are content and happy as they walk down the sidewalk, hand in hand. The little girl had found a bright yellow dandelion on the way and had picked it to give it to her father, who know displays it proudly from the rim of his glasses above his right ear._

_The duo are popular customers at Any Given Sundae, and the shop owner, a middle-aged woman with blonde hair named Ingrid, greets them happily as they ring the bell above the front door as they walk in. "Magnus, Jenny! It's great to see you two!" Ingrid leans over the counter to be closer to eye-level with Jenny, "How are you today?"_

_The little girl tucks herself behind her father—a typical response to direct attention from adults—but pokes her head out to answer the kind woman, "I'm doing well. Thank you."_

_"Jenny just finished reading her first book, we are here to celebrate!" Mr. Honey tells the shop owner proudly._

_"No way!" The older woman exclaims, and she actually is surprised, but she smiles, "Well you know what that means right?" Jenny doesn't respond, but comes from behind her father in wide-eyed curiosity. "It means you get the reader's special! Free ice cream, this one's on the house."_

_"Thank you, ma'am!" The little girl is almost bouncing in anticipation. She chooses strawberry ice cream with gummy bears—her usual—and her father gets mint chocolate chip with peanut butter syrup, and they eat it on their walk back home._

_Since they had been walking and eating their ice cream, four-year-old Jenny was quite sticky and messy upon return to their grand home. It's pretty late—almost sundown—in the early fall and is almost Jenny's bedtime. She looks forward to her bath time and nighttime rituals with her father, when the dreaded pager rings. Jenny has learned to detest the small device, because it means her father will soon leave her and she'll be alone with her aunt._

_"Please don't go." Jenny feels her eyes start to fill with tears._

_"I'm sorry, bumblebee," He rushes around the fourier trying to collect the things he needs to leave; keys, his coat, his bag, "But your aunt is here and she'll see you to bed. I'll go tell her I have to go." The little girl watches, devastated, as her father disappears into the back of the house. He's back a minute later—the girl hasn't moved from her same position—and pecks a kiss on the top of her head on the way out the door._

_As soon as the door closes behind him, the little girl turns to see her aunt approaching her and looks down at her hands and shirt. They're dirty, and Aunt Trunchbull does not like dirty little girls. She despises them, though hard to believe, more than neat and orderly little girls. "What in the_ hell _is all over you, you rotten brat?" Her aunt spits at her after roughly checking her over, then grabs an arm and yanks the little girl after her up the stairs and to a cold bath._

Yeah, _lucky_ , alright. But the memory of her father, however bright and sunny, is also painful when Jenny thinks about all the things she missed with him. He missed her first day of school, her high school graduation with honors, her acceptance into the meager teaching program at the local college—though far below her abilities and schools she could've gotten into if she'd applied—it was something the girl was and is extremely proud of.

And then there's the things that Magnus missed that Jenny is certainly not proud of.

She pushes those out of her mind, saying that she can mourn over the loss of her father and the parts of her lives he will miss even in the future tomorrow, on the anniversary of his death.

Miss Honey glances to the papers hanging off the desk in her room across the hallway. Matilda's test. The teacher had been analyzing them earlier and was mostly finished. The little girl showed especially high aptitude in reading and mathematics—no surprise there—but a lower percentage of questions correct in the social studies and history portions, which is surprising. She would've expected higher of Matilda, but determines the lower scores makes sense. Matilda reads to educate herself, but also to explore the world outside of her life. Most of what secondary school students learn of history revolves around war, and although Matilda finds the value of it in a literary sense, her teacher imagines the little girl prioritizes senseless conflict very low out of all the fascinating things she can learn of the world.

The only part to finish in analyzing Matilda's results is figuring out which grade the test says is most appropriate, and how that compares to the grade level Miss Honey decides is best for her student. She assumes it will probably be the ninth or tenth grade based on the estimates Jenny was able to extract from her own test analysis, but the teacher will need to decide this and fill in the gaps for Matilda before the girl can start on the grade level's curriculum. The problem lies in that the documents needed to compare Matilda's test results to the grade level curriculum, specifically, resides in Miss Trunchbull's office. Unless Miss Honey can think of a way to smooth talk her way around to getting the standardized test outlines from her aunt, a skill she's never been strong in, she'll have to boldface lie or blatantly admit to what she's been doing. There is another option, however, that would involve speaking to a teacher of each grade and thoroughly diagnosing the questions themselves, but that might take weeks and not be exact. Miss Honey knows finding a way to get the test key and explanations from her aunt is the only way to help Matilda any time soon.

Tomorrow is supposed to be Jenny's day off. It's her one missed day of the year, by tradition, and sacred to the young woman. September 12th is the day of every year Jenny allows herself to mope around her house and not be productive. She'll usually stay in bed well into the midmorning—something she grants herself exactly once a year—before taking a long bath and maybe making herself a sandwich if she's hungry. Her aunt would have gone to school hours ago, so the house will be quiet and still. Jenny usually spends the day walking outside and reading a book under a tree, doing calm and peaceful things that remind her of her father and their short time together; a stark juxtaposition to her normal, chaotic days.

But Jenny decides that this year is the year that the tradition stops. Though she still desperately misses her father, she cannot continue mourning the loss, not almost two decades later. Jenny has grown up and endured a lot in the nineteen years since her father passed away. Eighteen September 12th's have passed where she wastes the day away in extreme sadness and grief. There will no nineteenth. Not when there's a brilliant little girl that needs her help. How has she justified being so selfish for so long?

"You are taking too long," A rough voice accuses. "You have chores to do, still."

Jenny is frightened to discover her aunt standing in the bathroom with her, about halfway between the tub and the door. Jenny's eyes had been open, but she wasn't looking out, so her aunt's presence catches her off guard. The older woman does this sometimes, purposefully invades her privacy to make the girl uneasy and watch her squirm. Jenny tries to cover herself, and her thin arms barely do the job as the porcelain tub offers no protection. Since early childhood, the girl has been forbidden to close doors no matter for what reason, her aunt claiming that the girl shouldn't have anything to hide and that open doors protected the girl from trying to keep secrets. Nothing was kept secret from the Trunchbull for very long, and always result in a certain and harsh punishment. Except for now, as Jenny is determined to help Matilda without her aunt's knowledge.

"What, exactly, are you trying to hide?" The Trunchbull laughs at the girl in the tub. Jenny panics for a moment, before realizing her aunt was just referring to her arms that cover her chest and her crossed legs. Luckily, the woman doesn't wait for a response and exits back out the door, leaving Jenny in momentary peace. The girl finishes up quickly then gets out to dry off and get dressed to go back downstairs.

Jenny begins her evening chores feeling clean, but bruised. The bath had loosened her muscles to relieve some of her soreness, but it did nothing to help the cuts on her bottom nor the large bruise on wrist that has been forming ever since her aunt's aggressive interrogation on why she had been late. Jenny, amazingly, had gotten away with the slight white lie of being at the library, and that she had gotten carried away and lost track of time. Aunt Trunchbull believed her without doubt and shoved her off towards the stairs, where Jenny climbed, set her papers down on her desk, and headed straight for the bathroom to bathe.

By midnight, she's finished with her chores and prepared for tomorrow; the first day she'll ever have been to school on September 12th.


	7. Chapter Seven

**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

Jenny feels terrible from the moment her alarm clock begins ringing. It's as if her body instinctively knows that today will be rough, so why not make it worse? After the young woman sits up and slings her legs over the side of the bed, her head pounds. She groans as she begins to stand to begin her day, but the spinning in her mind forces her back down on the bed. A flash of heat radiates throughout Jenny's body, making her skin feel cool and slick. Another intense wave of nausea, this time uninspired, forces Jenny on shaky feet to fight her way across the hall to the bathroom.

The girl lays exhaustively against the toilet, her body ravaged by the intense round of vomiting. Her bangs stick to her face and red heat patches travel up the skin on her arms as she tries to push the heat from inside her. Miss Honey _never_ gets sick anymore. Or at least not anything remotely serious. Sure, she's had the occasional cold or sore throat, but no sickness that's ever even made her consider the possibility of missing school. As a very little girl, being sick meant a day home alone with her father. When he passed away, sick days meant hugely inconveniencing her aunt, which always had its consequences. It was always better to just suck it up and suffer through a school day. Jenny never really had to worry about getting other children sick; she didn't really have friends to interact with anyways.

But the fact that Jenny almost immediately feels better after emptying the contents of her stomach tells her that she's more likely just nervous or stressed. Or both. But the teacher does not let herself use this as an excuse; she has things to get done today, and she refuses to let herself get in the way of them. Jenny picks herself off the bathroom floor—a skill she's basically professional in—and washes her face in the sink. She runs a brush through her hair and brushes her teeth, in accordance to her normal schedule, though it's much earlier than when she usually gets up. Miss Honey stares at her reflection, trying to decide if she should put on a little makeup today. She's never been huge into it, but the extra boost of confidence—even superficial—would be helpful today. But Jenny decides against it, citing that the probability of it staying on all day seems unlikely, especially when her throw up fit already this morning left her covered in sweat and tears.

Miss Honey finds the blue dress in her closet several minutes later. Blue was her father's favorite color. She makes sure to wear it every year. After slipping on her normal socks and one of the two pairs of shoes she owns, Jenny grabs the book she just finished on her way out the door and down the stairs. She begins to prepare the sandwiches for her and her aunt's lunches when heavy footfall approaches unexpectedly. Jenny forgot; Fridays are Aunt Trunchbull's morning workouts so that the woman may do as she please during the weekend evening.

"What are you doing in here?" The aunt is immediately suspicious.

"I'm making your lunch." Miss Honey stares down at her hands, trying to keep busy so she doesn't have to face the older woman.

"I know that, you bumbling idiot." The woman's sharp words cause Jenny to cringe and shrink into herself, as a thick, meaty hand shoves Jenny out of the way of the fridge so that it can retrieve the pitcher of water. "I meant that I haven't forgotten that today is the single day that I so generously allow you off every year. It is astounding to me that _you_ seem to have forgotten. You always pester me about it every year, you ungrateful—"

"I didn't forget." Jenny states to her aunt, backing down after the warning glare she received for interrupting her aunt's insult. Flattery and self-deprecation is usually the way to go, so Jenny has found out over the years. "I just thought… That it was time I listened to you, and that I move on with my life. It's time that I stop being so foolish and take this day holiday every year."

"You are entirely correct." Her aunt doesn't miss a beat, as if she'd known that Jenny would _finally_ come around and see 'reason' about the tradition, or Jenny's lack thereof. "But what are you doing in here so early? Your lazy ass isn't up till 6:30 on school days." She takes several greedy gulps straight from the pitcher before replacing it in the fridge.

Jenny struggles with an explanation that will please her aunt, and allow her to most easily escape her focus right now. "Well," She swallows her pride along with the nervous salivation forming in her mouth, "I listened to what you said… The other day, about me needing to have more discipline in my classroom." Miss Honey feels like she might throw up again because of the taste of her words, but knows she must play her aunt's game. "I just wanted to go in early so that I could prepare myself and figure out how to be strong, like you."

The Trunchbull stares blankly at her niece for long enough for Jenny to get extremely nervous that she had been unconvincing. But the older woman breaks into a disgusting smirk and claps the younger woman on the back, sending Jenny to bend over the kitchen table and a hollow thump reverberating around the open room. "I must say, I'm surprised." The headmistress laughs a deep, belly laugh that makes Jenny extremely uncomfortable, "That Chokey sure does work miracles; I mean, it somehow showed the truth to even someone as useless and weak as you! I can't wait to see the transformation in action, and see my years of work with you pay off."

Miss Trunchbull strolls out of the kitchen, high-and-mighty and self-assured, leaving Jenny thoroughly confused on what just happened. But she doesn't have the time or energy for it right now; she'll deal with it later. The young woman assembles the two lunches in brown paper bags, and takes the one with significantly less food, along with a banana to eat on her way to the library.

Jenny is soon out the door—with her book, banana, and bag—and finds her feet on autopilot down the instinctual path to the library. The sunrise won't be for another hour and a half, so she makes the twenty-minute walk in the dark. The night still leaves a layer of dew on the blades of grass and the leaves of the trees are beginning to fall, as it's now early autumn. The young woman enjoys this peace, however brief, and is grateful for this start to her morning.

By the time she's reached the grand doors to the library, she's almost completely forgotten about the conversation with her aunt. She doesn't want to try to analyze it anymore, she just wants to be with her friend—someone that holds reverence for how significant this day is to her. Jenny checks her watch; it's just after six in the morning. Perfect; plenty of time to enjoy the librarian's company and figure out how to survive today before she needs to be at the school at seven to welcome the children. Jenny climbs the stairs and checks the handle to find that the doors are, indeed, unlocked. Mrs. Phelps is here.

The old librarian had just sat down the saran-wrapped plate of cookies—still warm from the oven—on the table in the small backroom when she hears the front door close. There's only one person that would ever be here this early.

Mrs. Phelps pokes her head out the door into the lobby and her suspicions are confirmed, "Jenny! It's good to see you!" She meets the young woman near the front desk to wrap her arms around her. Jenny still has to calmly remind herself to ease into it but is warmed by the show of affection. "I wasn't expecting you until mid-morning, honestly. Let's go to the backroom, I'll put on some tea."

Jenny quietly follows the woman into the next room. Mrs. Phelps knows that the young woman will hardly ever initiate a conversation, unless she is asking for information about books. Heck, it took the librarian years to acclimate Jenny to her enough so that the girl doesn't look like she'll just dart off at any random moment during a conversation. Throughout the years, though, Mrs. Phelps has been able to form a solid bond with the girl and has learned to read her through other ways than words. It's not something that particularly bothers the older woman anymore; it's just a routine that they've both fallen into by now.

Especially during her childhood—although mostly still true in her adulthood—the library was the only place that Jenny could escape her aunt's looming presence. The magical place filled with wonder and life for Jenny was only a source of boredom for Agatha Trunchbull. The girl's aunt soon grew tired with escorting the girl to and from the library, so little Jenny was making the trip by herself by age seven. This meant time unsupervised, free from her aunt, in the large library. These were the days that her and Mrs. Phelps started their friendship. The girl would often be one of the only people in the library, and the librarian would routinely check up on her in the afternoons, sometimes bring snacks and small treats from home. It was the only kindness Jenny was ever shown. But it broke Mrs. Phelps' heart every evening when Miss Trunchbull would arrive after work to pick up the little Jenny. Seeing the girl so happy and contently reading in the poetry section, only to be abruptly extracted and sunk back to reality every day only strengthened Mrs. Phelps' resolve to be the girl's silent guardian; ready and willing.

September 12th is a day that Mrs. Phelps' resolve is put to the test. Not because comforting or encouraging Jenny is difficult—the woman rather enjoys being able to be in the young woman's life—but it's an emotional and draining day every year. The day has gained everlasting importance in Mrs. Phelps' life too.

"So how are you doing?" The librarian had waited to pry until they both were sitting at the small table with hot cups of tea. She spent the time waiting for the tea to brew recounting her memories of Magnus to his daughter, some of which included her or where she was the topic, which warmed the girl and has always been a sure-fire way to cause her to open up.

"I woke up feeling sick this morning." Jenny frowns as she looks at the mug in her hands, then takes a sip from it, "But I think I was just stressed or something of the like."

This slightly concerns Mrs. Phelps. "Are you stressed over something in particular, or was it because of what day it is?"

"Both, I suppose." Miss Honey answers, before delving into the whole standardized placement test that she had Matilda take yesterday and her plans to help the girl. The teacher goes on to hotly relay the event of yesterday evening, "And I walked her home yesterday, after we left here. When I tried to talk to the foster mother, she rather impolitely 'asked' me to leave."

Mrs. Phelps smiles demurely. It's always so interesting to see what angers or frustrates the girl, the emotions seem to be almost foreign to her soft features and it's as if they don't know how to properly express them so they off way more kind and delicate than she knows the girl intends. But her smirk disappears when she thinks of Jenny's student—Matilda, the beloved storyteller and avid reader of five and a half—under the 'care' of Miss Hannigan. The librarian doubts 'care' is a word in the woman's limited vocabulary. "That woman certainly is a piece of work." Mrs. Phelps mumbles before she takes a sip of her tea.

Jenny's eyes spark with sudden interest. "What do you know of her?" She wants to know her student's background, she wants to know how Matilda came to be so brilliant and how she's treated at home. Jenny desperately wants to write off her interaction with the woman as bad timing or inconvenience, she wants to hear that Matilda is at least valued and cared for at home, areas that Miss Honey feels inadequacy in because she can't appropriately provide for the girl's needs of stimulation and security at school.

"Nothing good." The librarian's words cause Miss Honey's heart to sink, "I've walked Matilda home several times, when she had stayed late and it was too dark for the child to walk alone. Every time the woman has had alcohol on her breath, or in her hand. She works those poor girls to the bone keeping that house clean, and—though Matilda has never specifically mentioned it to me—I believe that she beats the girls if they make mistakes."

"That's terrible." Miss Honey means for her words to come out appalled and strong, but they are flat and haunted. She had no idea that Matilda is in that type of situation. This changes _everything_.

Mrs. Phelps notices the distant look in the young woman's eyes. "I must say I'm surprised to see you up this early. It looks like you're going to the school today." Usually on this day of the year, Jenny wonders through the doors in the mid-morning, with her hair in a messy ponytail and wearing dull lounge-wear outfits. It's always a shock to see the normally pristine and orderly girl, so unkempt and disheveled. But a sight that the librarian usually takes a certain amount of pleasure in, it reminds her just how human, vulnerable, and young the girl is. It's the one day of the year that Jenny looks like any other twenty-four year old kid, and seeing her breaking the tradition marks a major change.

The mention of Jenny's big step pulls her from her thoughts. She smiles down at herself, then looks up with a confused, sheepish half-smirk that says 'oh, _right_ '. "Yeah, I just figured it was time for me to stop the 'mourning day' thing. It's something I guess I've known for a while, actually, I just never had a reason to. Until now, of course."

"You need to finish figuring out Matilda so that you can help her succeed." Mrs. Phelps provides.

The thought resonates warmly within Miss Honey, and she glances at her watch, before suddenly standing. The chair scuffs the tile as she pushes it back so fast. "I really need to leave if I'm going to get to school on time."

"Of course, dear." Mrs. Phelps stands too, "I understand."

"Thank you so much for… everything. I really appreciate it. More than you know." Miss Honey takes the woman's hand as she genuinely admits to her.

"Anytime, Jenny. Come by and see me soon." The old woman pecks a kiss on her cheek and Jenny rushes out of the library and down the street towards the school. She wouldn't dare be late.


	8. Chapter Eight

**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

"Just knock on the door, Jenny! Don't be pathetic." The young woman whispers to herself, first raised and hovering an inch or two away from the door to the headmistress' office. Instead of a pep talk, Jenny berates herself. She's just standing outside of the principal's office, like a little girl; it's just _pathetic_. But Matilda, she isn't like her. Matilda is strong and intelligent and compassionate. The teacher imagines how Matilda's eyebrows would frown as she'd try to mask her disappointment when Miss Honey told her she couldn't decipher her test results, which is what she'd have to tell her if she doesn't get the curriculum information from her aunt. It's too late to turn back now. Jenny takes a deep breath and makes herself knock on the door.

Miss Trunchbull's gruff voice is abrasive even through the door. "Enter."

The girl—now feeling reduced to seven years old again—shakily opens the door, slides through the crack, and shuts it behind her. She looks around the room, a shiver runs up her spine from the memories from two days ago that the office brings back. With a full inhale of air Miss Honey collects all the strength she has ever felt within her, and she actually feels strong and powerful, as if she could move something just by looking at it, by her exhale.

"Miss Trunchbull." Jenny begins—without even being prompted—her devised plan to get what she needs. "As I told you of before, I have finally seen the light of what you were trying to teach me all these years and have decided to pursue stricter discipline within my own classroom." Jenny doesn't feel disgust for her words, or guilt for her lie; she's on a mission, a purpose that can change Matilda's future, and now has her aunt's full attention. "Along with this, I believe that learning should be achieved on a higher standard in my classroom. I will expect my students to learn greater quantity at a quicker pace. In accordance with this, I would like to see the files on the higher grades' curriculum so that I may prepare the children for what they must learn later."

"And which files would you like to see for this?" The headmistress' question is flat and probing.

"The most current placement test key and curriculum correlations." She fights to keep her voice steady.

"Why?" Her aunt squints at her.

"I wish to see the curriculum in context and how it lines up with the way I teach my students." It's not a very fulfilling answer, but it's the best the teacher can come up with.

"You know that those files are classified, right, Jen?"

"Yes ma'am. I believe that they are imperative and instrumental to the upkeep of excellence and discipline in my class." She's sure to sprinkle in things that her aunt will definitely like.

Jenny watches as the headmistress stands from her desk and crosses in front of it, near the teacher, to reach the file cabinets against the right wall. As Miss Trunchbull fiddles with the key to unlock the drawer, Miss Honey's eyes wonder over to the wall on the left, where the Chokey ominously lays in wait for its next victim. Jenny cringes and adverts her eyes.

When Miss Trunchbull starts to hand the manila folder to her niece, Jenny is surprised at how easy it was and extends a hand to accept her prize and fulfill her goal. But her aunt snatches it away at the last moment, and stalks past the bewildered girl. This week has really been a giant emotional rollercoaster for Jenny; the simple taunt from her aunt—that, honestly, Jenny should've expected—makes her want to burst into tears and give up. But she's got a five-year-old girl depending on her; the girl needs the test to figure out her time frame and needed studying for college, so she can have a good, successful life.

"I'm afraid, Honey, that this is all a little too good to be true." Miss Trunchbull waits for Jenny to say something, but it is soon clear that Jenny is only focused on the files lightly held in her hands. "So I have a proposition." She sets the folder down on her desk so that Jenny is forced to look her employer in the eye. A deal with the devil never ends well, Jenny knows this from the countless times her aunt has tricked her and lied to her. But she listens closely regardless. "I will come by your classroom later this morning, and you will prove to me that you've finally grown a backbone."

"How do you want me to do that?" Jenny has learned adhering to her aunt's specifics are the surest way to achieve the objective.

The Trunchbull pulls her mouth into a sinister half-grin. "I'm sure you'll figure out a way to impress me, bumblebee."

Jenny feels her whole body freeze from head to toe at the pet name. Adrenaline spikes through her body as the fight or flight response kicks in, but her body is too heavy to run yet. An instant layer of cold sweat coats her skin and her stomach rolls violently. She thinks she's going to throw up. "Yes ma'am." Miss Honey doesn't even attempt to keep her voice even anymore. She sees her aunt look her over, taking in the effect of the word on her, and Jenny walks calmly out the door as her body throws itself into turmoil on the inside.

The teacher bolts to the nearest bathroom, down the hall a bit, and barely makes it into a stall before she empties Mrs. Phelps' cookies and tea into the toilet bowl before collapsing, defeated, onto the floor. Jenny hates this feeling, this slavery her aunt has thrust her into. She doesn't know how yet, but she knows Matilda cannot be the only one with a happy ending in this story. Miss Honey can have one too, and she can decide who is in it and how it goes. But she knows it will get exponentially messier and more difficult, before she and Matilda get what they want. Miss Honey picks herself off the bathroom tile for the second time this morning.

The teacher marches down the hallway with a purpose. She needs to talk to Matilda, and she needs to figure out a way to convince her aunt to get the file. Jenny has never felt so empowered before; it's like every step she takes towards her classroom is a step she's taking towards her own sovereignty and escape from her aunt's control. Briefly, she wonders how she has come to this point, but it's not difficult for her to figure out; Matilda. The girl is so clever and concise, despite her circumstances, and from the interactions Miss Honey has had with the girl, it feels as though the teacher has been inspired by her student. Miss Honey has also seen the girl's strength indirectly; through over-hearing Matilda's stories of her mischief to Lavender, or having watched Matilda outwit the fearsome headmistress in Bruce's defense in the playground, not to mention her boldness on the first day of class when she answered any question the teacher could think to throw at her. Matilda is, absolutely, nothing less than a miracle.

When Miss Honey gets to her classroom, her 'on a roll', 'getting stuff done' sensation is deflated by an empty classroom. She checks the clock over the doorway to find that it is, indeed, way earlier than she thought and her students have yet to arrive for class. Plenty of time for doubt and uncertainty to cultivate in her stomach. But Miss Honey uses the opportunity to figure out her plan for this morning.

Miss Honey is reviewing her lesson plans for the day when her precious students trickle in, one by one. They immediately smile and wish their teacher a good morning and head to the back of the classroom to stow away their lunches, and Jenny finds it almost impossible not to smile and happily wish them good morning back. Although Miss Honey loves all her students dearly, she waits particularly for Matilda to walk through her door. She busies herself passing out the morning warm up review, unable to stop herself from frequently glancing up at the door for the little girl to arrive.

Miss Honey starts to get worried when the warning bell signals three minutes till class starts and Matilda still isn't here. In the few weeks school has been in session, the girl has never been this late, and she's certainly not the type to ever miss school. Miss Honey can't get the information Mrs. Phelps told her about Matilda's foster mother out of her head. She furrows her brow as she walks by the girl's empty desk, running a hand across the seat where the girl ought to be sitting right now, and bends down besides Lavender's desk. "That's a very pretty drawing, Lavender." Miss Honey believes the girl is completing a drawing of her namesake flower with her favorite crayon, _outrageous orange_. How fitting.

"Lavender, do you know where Matilda is?" Miss Honey looks up to the girl's eyes, through their two pairs of glasses.

"No, Miss Honey. I'm not sure where she is." Lavender shrugs, seeming not to think much of it.

The teacher sighs. "Oh, alright. Thank you Lavender." The girl in a purple dress returns to her coloring as Jenny heads back to her desk.

The final bell rings, officially announcing the beginning of class, and echoes throughout the school. Extremely perplexed and worried about the whereabouts of Matilda, Miss Honey stands in front of the class anyway, hands clasped in front of her. "Good morning, class."

"Good morning, Miss Honey." The class repeats the ritual, same as every morning.

"Happy Friday!" She wishes, trying to remember to act as normal as possible. She doesn't want to confuse or startle her students more than necessary. "I would like to begin class today with a very important announcement." She begins, but is interrupted by the door opening. Jenny's heart beats faster, until she just feels relief when she recognizes the back of Matilda's form closing the door, then hurrying to her seat towards the back of the room. "Good morning, Matilda." Miss Honey smiles at the girl, trying to make eye contact, but Matilda keeps her head down—obviously flustered over being late—as she unloads her backpack into her desk.

Miss Honey can just speak to her in a moment, she needs to say this to the class. The teacher fits herself with the same tone she used earlier when going to the headmistress' office and wonders if she'll be able to sell this to the children before her. They may be in kindergarten, but they're not stupid. She'll need to make this believable. "There is a competition; a game for the teachers at Crunchem Hall today. It's to see how can best impersonate the headmistress. It's near her birthday, you see, and one of the faculty members came up with it. She'll be coming by to judge later this morning, so I expect you all to be on your best behavior." She glances around the room to gauge her students' reactions. She totals the blank stares as collective agreement. Her students, still so young, are often unaware of the inner workings of the school. Miss Honey is sure the idea of trying to imitate the huge woman is dangerous and strange, especially since it's their scrawny, soft, teacher—everything the headmistress is not—but they don't know what else to think, so they default to believe her. All they know is showing up, doing their work, keeping their head down if Miss Trunchbull is around, trying to impress their teacher, and going home at the end of the day to their loving parents. Well, mostly. Matilda, always the exception, is now Miss Honey's destination.

"Matilda, can we speak out in the hall?" The teacher tries to remain casual, attempting not to draw too much attention to them. Matilda moves to stand from her desk as Miss Honey addresses the class once again, "Thank you for your understanding. When the headmistress comes in to judge, remember that it is all only pretend. I am going out in the hall for just a moment, so I would like you to complete the morning warm up activity in the meantime." She reaches the door, and glances back across her class to see Alice raising her hand. "Yes, Alice, you may draw a picture, too." Miss Honey smiles knowingly to the girl, causing easy giggles from the children, as her and Matilda slip out the door.

It briefly passes the teacher's mind to inquire about Matilda's tardiness, but she decides not to say anything, at the moment at least. "So I have been checking and—"

Miss Honey stops dead in her tracks when she sees the scrapes on the little girl's face. "Matilda." She states slowly, dreading having to ask the question she must for fear of the answer. "What happened?" The teacher gets to her knees—eye level to the girl—to inspect the damage. From the right cheekbone to above the right eyebrow, are several jagged cuts surrounded by red, inflamed skin.

"It was my fault." Matilda immediately states. Miss Honey can hear her heartbeat in her ears, but remains very still as she looks directly at the girl. Matilda retains eye contact with her teacher. "I was being silly. I was playing a game with Molly last night and I fell and hit my head against the kitchen counter. I really ought to be more careful."

Occupied with still inspecting the wounds, Jenny's eyes flash back to her student's. "It would've been awfully late by the time you had gotten home and would have had dinner. I'm surprised your foster mother allowed you any play time."

"Oh yes, every day after dinner for an hour Miss Hannigan lets us play games. Yep, every single day. Then off to bath time and bed by eight, she always says." Matilda is very convincing, but Jenny knows better.

"We will talk about this later." She makes sure to look straight into the little girl's eyes to convey her suspicion and disbelief, then continues to touch the edges of the injury with the pad of her thumb, "These look like they might be showing signs of infection. Will you let me clean them up really quickly?" She looks to the girl for permission. Matilda nods. Miss Honey pops back into the classroom, where she tells her students she'll return shortly, and grabs her small first aid kit from her emergency supply bag. She doesn't see much point taking the girl to the nurse, she wouldn't be able to do much more than Miss Honey can with the antiseptic.

Once they're both in the bathroom down the hall, Miss Honey helps Matilda jump up to the counter to sit so that she may start to dab at the girl's cuts with the Neosporin from her bag. Matilda starts the conversation, "Were you able to figure out my test results?" She's hopeful.

Although Miss Honey is grateful to not have to the tell the girl that she's given up, she's still not able to provide a satisfactory answer. "Not quite. I need each grade's curriculum to compare with your test results to be able to determine which grade you should start in. I thought they would have them at the library, but the files weren't there. Then there was a chance—" Jenny was about to spill her biggest secret to the little girl, without even thinking. She was about to tell Matilda how there was a slight chance that her aunt had the files in her office at home, but she had looked during her chores last night and they weren't there. But—obviously—this would reveal information she wasn't ready for her favorite student to know. Miss Honey recovers seamlessly, "that they would be, somewhere else. But that fell through. The only place left that they would be is in Miss Trunchbull's office."

Miss Honey can physically see the realization hit Matilda. "That's what the 'competition' is about. You're trying to impress her into thinking you're like her, so that she will give you the curriculum correlation key."

"Exactly." The teacher dabs away, the bloody paper towels on the sink's rim reminding her of her horrific morning several days ago. She puts it out of mind.

"How are you going to do it?" Matilda inquires.

"Do what?" Miss Honey is so focused intently on cleaning the cuts that she didn't really register her student's question.

Matilda's tone darkens. "How are you going to convince the Trunchbull that you're like her?"

Miss Honey stalls at the question, not having an adequate answer. She hasn't quite thought that far. The idea sickens her. "I'm… I'm not sure yet."

As the teacher finishes up and is throwing away the used materials, a rather tense silence passes between them, until Matilda breaks it with a suggestion, "Use me."

"What? No, absolutely not." Miss Honey denies the idea instantly, then attempts to explain herself. "You've had a rather difficult time recently; I have no intention of making it more so. Besides, Miss Trunchbull would never believe it. She knows how impartial I am towards you—"

"That's exactly why it'd work, Miss Honey. She sees me as your weakness, if you can convince her you've overcame it, she'll believe you. And this is for my test, I cannot allow anyone else to be targeted on my accord."

Matilda's points are precise and difficult for Miss Honey to out reason. "I—I can't, Matilda. Not you." The thought of treating any of her children the way the headmistress does is overwhelmingly repulsive on its own, but any mistreatment towards Matilda in particular is absolutely unacceptable.

"You've got to, Miss Honey, this is important." Matilda lays a hand on her teacher's, and can tell she is swaying. "I'm asking you to, please. I trust you."

"We need to get back to class." Miss Honey puts her hands on the girl's hips to help her down, thinking about how she could never raise a hand to the brilliant little girl in any way intending harm. She refuses; there must be another way.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter contains published poetry that is the work of other authors. I'm not trying to steal their work; their names are mentioned with the poems within the story.

**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

When Matilda and Miss Honey arrive back to the classroom, the rest of the children are still quietly working on their morning warm-ups. They undoubtedly finished the assignment long before the pair sauntered back into the classroom, but the children are too well-trained to try anything foolish like goof around or start loud conversations. Especially when they knew their headmistress would be coming by any moment. They try to remain focused, but each head briefly glances at the new arrivals, just enough to confirm it to be their beloved teacher and classmate, and not the frightful principal.

"Thank you class, for being so well behaved while I stepped out. Would you all pass your papers to the front of the row so that I may collect them?" Miss Honey notes how unnaturally well-mannered her students are. It's like they don't know how fun and exciting learning and school and _life_ can be. But then again, she is the same way. She _was_ the same.

As Miss Honey collects the papers from the front row, she decides to go ahead with her planned topic. She doesn't know when the headmistress will be coming by, but when the moment comes she'll have to flip a switch into her mind to react as her aunt would. She shivers. "We are going to start the morning with some poetry. Has anyone read any poems before?"

The class is still, except for Matilda towards the back, who is nodding her head as she looks down at her book and simultaneously takes notes in her composition notebook beside it. Her and Matilda had decided together that Matilda should mainly stick to her private lessons during class time. Although she still occasionally interjects a few times every day—proving that she is still listening—and her thoughts are certainly thought-provoking and helpful, they came to the conclusion early in the year that no one benefited from Matilda always answering. The rest of the students could just rely on Matilda to answer, allowing them to be lazy, and it might ostracize the girl as the 'show-off'. Their arrangement is the best way to handle the less-than-preferable circumstances. Miss Honey smiles knowing that she's sure Matilda loves poetry, but turns her attention back to the rest of the class.

"Poems are just a way for writers to express themselves and tell their truths of the world." Miss Honey roams between the isles of the desks. "Musicians use instruments, dancers use their bodies, and painters use a paint brush to make art. Poets use typically few words packed with tons of meaning. Musicians, painters, poets; they're all artists."

The teacher returns herself to the front of the room, where she wrote a poem on the chalkboard earlier this morning when she was preparing the lesson. "We're going to reading Roald Dahl's _Candy Man_ , there's a printed copy in your desks if you wish to try to read along."

_**"Who can take a sunrise, sprinkle it with dew?** _

_**Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two?** _

_**The candy man, the candy man can** _

_**The candy man can 'cause he mixes it with love** _

_**And makes the world taste good** _

" ** _Who can take a rainbow, wrap it in a sigh?_**

**_Soak it in the sun and make a strawberry–lemon pie?_ **

**_The candy man? The candy man, the candy man can._ **

**_The candy man can 'cause he mixes it with love,_ **

**_And makes the world taste good"_ **

"Now, please, will someone raise their hand and tell me their first reaction when they think of the poem?" Miss Honey prompts. Several hands shoot up.

She calls on Bruce. "It makes me hungry!" The chubby boy exclaims.

This is to be expected of Bruce, but—to save the purpose of the lesson—Miss Honey probes, "What words in the poem, specifically, makes you hungry, Bruce?"

"When it talks about 'chocolate' and 'sprinkles' and 'pie'!" He says excitedly.

"I agree, Bruce, those are very good foods to eat!" For Bruce, really, it's just a win that he's not throwing up by even the thought of chocolate, after the events of last week. "Anyone else?" She calls on Lavender.

"The poem makes me happy." The little girl smiles brightly.

"What about the poem makes you happy, Lavender?"

"When it talks about 'mixing it with love' and 'soaking it in the sun'. It reminds me of when my grandma makes her apple pie. It's so good." It's about this time when Miss Honey laughs at herself for picking a poem about food, a thought inspired by her student's watering mouths and longing gazes towards the clock that will—eventually—signify lunch time.

"My, my, Lavender, that _is_ a great connection!" Miss Honey praises, "That's the great thing about poetry, students, it can make us feel all sorts of ways and remember all sorts of things, using just words!"

The teacher spots another hand, Eric's, and calls on him. "Isn't this..." he squints at the board, " _docem_ a song too, Miss Honey?"

Miss Honey struggles to keep a smile on her face, despite her instinct to frown. Eric has been getting very low scores on his reading quizzes, and the teacher had summed it up to the boy not paying enough attention in class, but now thinks she might need to consider other explanations. "Actually, it's a _poem_ , Eric, but yes. I do believe this _poem_ is a song as well. And a pretty catchy one too, right?" The class giggles.

"What's your favorite poem, Miss Honey?" A strong, high voice asks from the back. She doesn't even need to look to know it was Matilda's question.

"It's Emily Dickinson:

_**"'Hope' is the thing with feathers—** _

_**That perches in the soul—** _

_**And sings the tune without the words—** _

_**And never stops—at all—** _

**_And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—_ **

**_And sore must be the storm—_ **

**_That could abash the little Bird_ **

**_That kept so many warm—_ **

**_I've heard it in the chillest land—_ **

**_And on the strangest Sea—_ **

**_Yet, never, in Extremity,_ **

**_It asked a crumb—of Me."_ **

The class of five and six year olds stare at their teacher, entranced. She doubts they understand at all what it means, to her at least, but they know enough to know it's beautiful. Miss Honey feels partial ownership in teaching them this search for beauty.

It's right then, of course, that the Trunchbull and her splendid timing bust through the door. "Good morning, Headmistress." Miss Honey acknowledges, which elicits a growl from her aunt as the huge woman stomps to the back of the classroom. But now, she's on a mission. She's not on a witch hunt to catch some poor, unfortunate soul at the wrong moment. The Trunchbull is here for judgement. And not for a competition—but as to decide upon Jenny's transformation. Only God can help the young woman if the headmistress is unconvinced.

The entire class, Miss Honey included, watches as their greatest fear marches to a desk in the far corner and sits upon it. "I trust you remember why I'm here. Carry on with your lesson." Her words might sound pleasant from the surface, but they're really a dare, as if Aunt Trunchbull just cannot wait to prove her niece wrong and watch her suffer the consequences which—in Jenny's limited creativity for punishments—include Chokey round two, a beating, or another night in the cellar. None of which are preferable to the young teacher.

Jenny feels how shaky and unsteady her knees seem, but they somehow keep from collapsing, so she turns around to collect herself. She closes her eyes; her brief safety mechanism, before she is forced to open them and return to reality. She turns halfway back to her class, remembering that she's not alone in the concurrent, intense fear of the room. "Right. So, as we were discussing; poetry…" Miss Honey glances back to her board.

Dickinson's " _Hope is the thing with feathers"_ poem is printed proudly in white on the dark board. And Miss Honey is shocked. Sure, she turned to watch Miss Trunchbull enter the room and sit down, but she had just been discussing the Dahl poem a minute ago. And she surely had written that poem on the chalkboard. _Right?_

But the _really_ strange part is that the writing on the board is _her_ hand-writing. Miss Honey thinks she must be going mad. _Something_ peculiar is happening. The teacher remembers scribing the Dahl poem and not the Dickinson, but the evidence doesn't seem to match up. Miss Honey is _so_ confused.

Despite this, the headmistress is still sitting in the back of the classroom—scrutinizing her every move—and the _Hope_ poem is what is written now. It's quite a sticky situation, that she must power through. But it's hopeless; as bright and lovely as her students are, Miss Honey knows the kindergartners have no hope of deciphering the poem. Except one.

"Matilda, can you tell me what hope is being compared to in this poem?" It's a question she knows the girl can answer. If she can get Matilda talking, something profound will eventually leave the child's mouth—and the teacher is prepared to lead her, if need be—and save this train wreck of a lesson in front of the headmistress.

But Matilda doesn't answer. She's distracted, furiously marking something obscured from her teacher's view by another desk. "Matilda, honey, will you pay attention?" Miss Honey reminds her nervously, wondering why the star pupil is suddenly making the teacher look so bad. The teacher and student had never needed to discuss procedure when the Trunchbull entered the classroom. The girl had always diligently slid away her extra materials—usually a book, until very recently—and proceeded to be very attentive to whatever lesson Miss Honey taught. She'd raise her hand at appropriate times and intervals, and subtly help the students around her, which is why Miss Honey had been calmed by Matilda's presence in her stead when the teacher was in the Chokey. Now that calmness is teetering.

Miss Honey knows she waited too long to react when Miss Trunchbull violently stands from her seat and bends over Matilda. The woman snatches whatever Matilda was focusing on so intensely and holds it up for inspection. Jenny wouldn't be surprised if the older woman didn't understand what Matilda is learning in her notes—she had already started today's SI extra assignment on geometric functions.

"Your 'genius' student, Jen, was drawing a _bird_ during your lesson. And not a very good one at that." The headmistress charges down the aisle, leaving Matilda standing in her wake beside her desk, and shoves the piece of paper into the teacher's hands.

 _This_ is strange. Miss Honey has had a difficult time getting Matilda to draw during their art time all year so far. Not that the girl isn't good—her spatial awareness is superb—it's just that the girl struggles finding inspiration. _"I think there are better things that I'd rather do._ " The girl had told her teacher two weeks ago, _"Like reading. I'm afraid I just do not really understand the point."_

_"Matilda, honey, it's about expression. Don't you have anything you want to express?" Jenny had asked._

_"I can express everything I wish perfectly fine through words." Was Matilda's serious answer._

So why would Matilda choose _right **now**_ to pursue her drawing interests?

But Miss Honey doesn't have time to answer her questions because the Trunchbull has expectations, and the teacher must adhere to them if they want Matilda's placement test to hold any relevance or be of any help. So she takes the contraband drawing from her aunt and tries to make herself seem angry as she strides to the girl's desk. "What is this?" She keeps her voice low and demanding, like she's heard so many times spoken to her.

"What do you think it is? It's a bird." Matilda states, with just a hint of antagonism in her voice—a trait foreign and odd on the small girl.

Miss Honey screams at the girl through her eyes. ' _Stand down.'_ She tries to tell her. ' _You know that this is dangerous.'_

But it's almost too late. "That kind of disrespect and rebellion, Miss Honey, calls for Chokey!" Miss Trunchbull shouts from behind, infuriated by the child's attitude.

"NO." The teacher finds herself yelling. She knows her aunt will expect an alternative, but she staggers and searches around her for an answer, guidance, anything. She finds it in Matilda's eyes, and a subtle nod is all she needs. "I know what will show her discipline." She calls back to the headmistress—who is watching with mild interest—and swallows back the nasty taste the words leave in her mouth.

Miss Honey looks Matilda dead in the eye and takes the drawing in both hands, as the girl makes an emotional deal over her attachment with it. "Please, Miss Honey, don't rip it. I'm sorry—I'll never get distracted again! I'll-"

"Matilda, it is too late for that." And, having put on the show and not wishing to prolong it, Miss Honey rips the drawing down the middle and lets it fall to the floor. Matilda drops to her knees on the floor and manages to conjure tears. Her acting, like most things she does, is brilliant, but the tears are where she crosses the line. No one but the Trunchbull's niece and subordinate would know the true depth for which the headmistress' hatred for tears runs. To her, they're weakness. And weakness must be eliminated.

Miss Trunchbull is quick to intervene. "Good job, Jen." She says somewhat reluctantly. The congratulations make Jenny feel dirty and uncomfortable, but she's got bigger problems. "I'll take it from here. The shivering squib is clearly a case requiring professional care, to which I will attend." The woman grabs Matilda by the collar and holds her off to the side as the headmistress gets close to the teacher's face. "A nice stay in the Chokey ought to toughen her up; it worked with you."

The headmistress promptly turns for the door, dragging Matilda behind her, when Jenny finds herself in her second ill-thought-out outburst of the morning, "No!" Miss Trunchbull turns to squint back at the teacher, and Miss Honey knows she's at risk for losing everything they've gone through. So she has to recover. "I mean… I'll take her to the Chokey." Jenny rushes to meet up with the massive woman and take Matilda into a softer grip by the arm, as to still look aggressive for show. The teacher also manages to use her aunt's surprise to escort the three of them out of the classroom, "I just mean that you work so hard all the time; I'm finally understanding what hard work you do. So I think that I ought to take the…" She tries to come up with a derogatory name that she's heard the headmistress call her or her students and manages to push one out of her mouth, "Maggot, to the Chokey and you take an early lunch?" Miss Honey knows she's succeeded with at least protecting her students when she closes the classroom door behind them and they start down the hall. Well, all but one. But she's working on that.

Miss Trunchbull stops them from continuing on and Jenny's eyes glance for places she can shove Matilda when the woman laughs. "Look at you, Jen. Always thinking." But then gets sober and mean again, "I'll be back after my lunch to deal with the disgusting shrimp." And she stalks off towards the cafeteria.

Miss Honey and Matilda look at each other with wide eyes before returning to their classroom. They've got at least fifteen minutes to figure out their move.


	10. Chapter Ten

**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

Miss Honey glances at her watch. "Oh, Matilda, we need to go." She says with urgency, standing from behind her desk. Matilda closes her book to trail behind her teacher as Miss Honey relays instructions for the rest of the class and hands a folded sheet of paper to Hortensia. "Amanda, would you lead the class in putting the answers on the board? Hortensia, the correct answers are on that paper. Don't open them until _after_ all the answers are on the board and fully discussed. I will be back in a few minutes. If I'm not back before the lunch bell rings, just go on and I'll be there to escort you all back from recess." She's reached the door, and decides to acknowledge what happened earlier. "Thanks for being on your best behavior earlier, I'll be back soon." With the closing of her classroom door, Miss Honey feels guilty about not being able to give her students the attention they deserve. It's usually so important of a goal to her, but now all she can think about is Matilda. She has made a mistake in how to deal with the Trunchbull—she should have found another way, though she knows deep down there was none—and now her student, this special little girl, this _miracle_ , must pay for it. Miss Honey knows she must right her wrong and help Matilda get on the right track that this placement test will provide, before she can return her attention and energy to her class.

When they enter the bathroom, Miss Honey warily looks to the sink and mirror again before turning to Matilda. "You should try to go." She nods towards the stalls.

"But I—"

This isn't a debate to Miss Honey. "Just try."

Perplexed but obedient, Matilda slips into a stall only to exit a moment later, bladder one hundred percent empty. "Thank you." Is all the teacher can force herself to say about the situation.

Matilda sits on the sink counter as Miss Honey wets her hands with the cool water from the nozzle. If Matilda was actually in the Chokey this whole time, there is no way she wouldn't be sweaty and disheveled. Thanks to the girl's characteristic knotty hair, her teacher only runs her fingers over parts to make the girl look sticky from the Chokey's humidity. They also wet various parts of the girl's dress, but most of the sell is going to come from Matilda. If they time it right, the girl will only be in the torture cupboard for a minute or two and will have to act distressed when released by the Trunchbull to be convincing that she was there the whole time.

"How am I supposed to act when Miss Trunchbull opens the door?" Matilda inquires.

And there's no time for Miss Honey to carefully figure her words the best way to say what she needs, the description just falls from her mouth as the teacher ushers her student down the hallway. "The air inside is stuffy, so when the door opens the fresh air will hit you like a wall of relief. Take several deep breaths and blink a lot, because the light would hurt your eyes. Don't immediately try to step out, she'll most likely grab you and pull you out. When she does, fall straight to the floor and don't say anything—you might say the wrong thing and set off another incident. If she's still angry, she might try to hurt you, so it's best to get away from her fists, if you can."

"And if she doesn't pull me out?" Matilda sounds worried.

The teacher doesn't have time to comfort her or explain everything to her. "Then that's really bad. She's not planning on letting you out." Miss Honey wracks her mind for what she ought to tell the girl to do, in case it happens. "Just in case it does though-but it won't-go back in and wait till the lock clicks—that's important—then start shouting. I'll be listening outside the door and get you out, I promise. But let's hope it doesn't get to that." She tries to give the child a comforting smile, but it comes out more as a grimace.

"It sounds like you sure do know a lot about the Chokey, Miss Honey." Matilda states, observing her teacher carefully.

"I've been here a long time, Matilda." She says quietly, almost under her breath. Matilda bets her teacher has seen many students go through the Chokey in her time teaching at Crunchem Hall, and knows her teacher would never put in her in a situation that would be deadly—no matter the consequences—, which is somehow comforting to the girl. It proves that Miss Honey knows what she is talking about, and that she'll survive this, despite how scared they both are.

They finally reach the headmistress' office, and judging by the fact that no deep, menacing voices have charged through the primary school demanding Miss Honey produce the girl, she's not currently in there. But they know she will be soon. Today is meatloaf day for children in the older grades who share the cafeteria during first lunch period. Miss Trunchbull loves meatloaf, and will probably eat two or three servings of it, but she eats quickly—if you can call shoving food down your throat without chewing 'eating'—and is certain to finish long before the bell for the younger children's lunch rings.

The pair slip in the door and Miss Honey makes sure the hall is clear before shutting it behind them. As the young woman guides Matilda to the locked cupboard door, it briefly crosses her to wonder how Miss Trunchbull's cruelty really began. Maybe it's possible that a younger Aunt Agatha was forced to inflict pain or sorrow on someone else, and her aunt liked the feeling of it. Holding someone's life in their hands is blissfully intoxicating to the Trunchbull; she loves the power, the control of it. Jenny's known this since she was a child.

_Jenny knew she was in big trouble the moment she looks up to find Miss Phelps standing in front of her table in the corner of the poetry section. "Jenny, the library is closing now. It's pretty late, shouldn't you be getting home?"_

_Jenny knows full and well that the public library closes at 7pm, a hour and a half after she's supposed to be home. Aunt Trunchbull is going to kill her._

_The girl jumps to her feet and begins frantically shoving her school work in her backpack. She's made a huge mistake, cursing herself for being so careless. She'll be lucky if her Aunt ever lets her visit the library ever again. And she had just been entrusted to get herself home after school, on time, though Jenny knows her aunt was really just tired of having to stop and get her every afternoon._

_Miss Phelps absent-mindedly hands the young girl a book from the corner of the desk she'd have difficulty reaching, but she's more perplexed by the normally constrained and timid girl's wild behavior. Miss Phelps has only recently been seeing the girl leave the library by herself, at 5:15pm every day, except for this evening. She wonders why any adult-even one as fearsome as the Agatha Trunchbull-would let a child of seven years old walk home alone this late._

_"Why don't you let me drive you home, Jenny. I know you live nearby." The librarian suggests._

_Jenny has finished packing her bag and slides it on to her shoulders as she eyes the woman warily. "No thank you, Miss Phelps. I can manage. As you said, I live nearby." She tries to push past, but is blocked by the librarian leaned down to her eye level._

_"I insist, Jenny. It's too dark for me to let you walk by yourself in good conscience. And I'm sure your aunt would be very upset with both of us if something happened to you, God forbid."_

_Jenny is extremely uneasy, but nods in acceptance. Miss Phelps has been nothing but kind to the girl, especially since her father died, with bringing her treats and providing assistance whenever the girl asks, but she doesn't understand that something will happen_ _to her when she gets_ home _. But, to satisfy the woman, she waits as the librarian locks the big doors and follows her to the only car in the parking lot beside the building._

_"So," Miss Phelps starts as she turns the key to the ignition, "What kept you in so late today?"_

_"I got caught up in my book and lost track of time." Jenny mumbles as she runs her fingers over the lining to the seats. It's been so long since the girl has been in a car._

_"Oh, I see. Happens to me all the time." This elicits a smile from Jenny. "What book are you reading?"_

_"One of the books you pulled for me._ The Awakening _. I like it a lot so far." Jenny stares out the window, amazed at how fast the trees fly past._

_Miss Phelps smiles. This is the first time the girl has ever expressed opinion without it being painfully extracted from her. The fact that Jenny is enjoying the book she picked out is just icing on the cake. Miss Phelps is making progress with the girl._

_The librarian takes a right onto a small dirt road that she knows will lead to the Honey Mansion. "Have you been to my house before?" Jenny asks, frowning, after she realizes she forgot to tell the woman to turn, having been lost in wondering what Edna Pontellier—her current book's heroine—would think of being in a car._

_"Yes, child. When your mother was pregnant, I would bring over books so she wouldn't be bored, stuck in the house all day."_

_Jenny's eyes light up, "You knew my mother?"_

_"Oh yes, Jenny. And your father, very well, actually. After your mother passed away in that horrible accident and then you were born, I brought over meals for you two. When your father went to work when you were two or three, I usually watched you until you were almost four, I think. But you were so young, it makes sense that you don't remember." Miss Phelps informs her._

_"I don't remember." Jenny says, pensively, before a question strikes her mind, "Why did you stop?"_

_Miss Phelps tries to conceal her emotions, "Your aunt moved in."_

_Despite her mourning over what could have been if the librarian had raised her after her father died instead of her aunt, Jenny feels the revelation opening a whole new part of her heritage, a connection to her parents and a time in her life when things were better. She has a million questions; she wants to know all about her mother and how close of a family friend Miss Phelps was and_ everything _. But they've arrived at Jenny's house, where Aunt Trunchbull stands in front of the steps, expectant, and the life instantly drains from Jenny's body._

_"Why don't you let me walk you in so that your aunt and I can get caught up?" Miss Phelps shifts the car into the parked gear._

_Fear replaces dread, Jenny's two most frequent emotions that just alternate with each other. The girl knows that there will be no 'catching up' with her aunt, now nor later. Before the librarian can move to exit her door, Jenny slings her's open and jumps out. She tries to hide her expression with a grin, that comes out as a nervous grimace. "Sorry, but I really must be going. Thank you very much for the ride home. See you soon." And the girl promptly shuts the door._

_Her homework-filled backpack makes her posture difficult to keep straight already, but she can't help slumping as her aunt stalks toward her with her typical, stern frown. Aunt Trunchbull grabs the girl's shoulder, not outwardly aggressive, but firm and tight. Jenny imagines the curt wave of acknowledgement her aunt gives Miss Phelps over her back, before shifting the girl in front of her and escorting her to the front door._

_When they get to the door, Aunt Trunchbull opens the door and throws Jenny in. The girl lands in a heap on the front rug and startles when her aunt slams the door shut—then locks the door with a key that she slips into a small pocket—and looms over her._ _Where in the hell were you?" Her aunt charges towards her._

_Jenny, terrified and panicked, scoots herself backwards in attempt to keep the distance between herself and her aunt. Aunt Trunchbull easily closes the space in a stride or two and has cornered her niece against the bottom of the stairs. The girl realizes she hasn't answered yet, further infuriating her aunt, and only gapes up as she cowers against the bottom step. "Well?" Her aunt screams in her face._

_"I-I was at-t the library." Jenny whispers, tears already streaming down her face._

_Miss Trunchbull picks the girl up by her lanky arms and shoves her towards the hallway, deeper into the house. "And why were you at the bloody library, Jen? You think you are so smart because you can read a few books?"_

_Jenny can only focus on the pointed question, and ignores the insult. "I finished up my homework, Aunt Trunchbull, and then I was reading my book when I lost track of time—"_

_"You stupid little girl. You mess up everything! At least now I know that you may not be trusted, you are weak and unintelligent, obviously. Your old punishments are not enough, clearly, I will have to think of some new ways to get it through your mind how to behave correctly." The Trunchbull stands before the girl, her hands militantly grasped behind her back._

_If Jenny's poor little heart wasn't already beating fast enough, it certainly was now. She feels her rapid pulse in her ears as the rest of her heat drains from her body. "Oh, no, Aunt Trunchbull. I don't—"_

_Miss Trunchbull slaps the girl abruptly. "Little children are meant to be seen, not heard. So be quiet." She starts to circle the little girl, as a bird circles its prey. "How did you manage to conjure Phelps into driving you home, you nasty, lazy worm."_

_"She offered." Jenny assumes her defensive position, which includes her standing very still and staring at her feet and only answering questions directly asked._

_"I sincerely doubt that. Why would anyone want to associate with such an ugly little cheat like you?" The aunt pauses, as she's hit with an epiphany. "Unless… Unless you lied to her. You tried to make her feel sympathy for your stupidity."_

_The little girl's jaw drops and she has to fight to breathe. "No, I didn't!"_

_"What did you_ tell _her_ _?" The Trunchbull's large hands are around Jenny's throat and holding her against the wall of the stairway._

_Jenny's little hands try to pull her aunt's away from her throat, but she knows its ultimately useless. She's useless even in trying to keep herself alive. "Nothing! I promise! I PROMISE!" Miss Trunchbull knows that her niece knows better than to try to lie to her, so she seems to believe the screaming little girl and drops her. Jenny collapses to a heap on the ground, a sniveling mess. This makes Aunt Trunchbull laugh a deep, belly laugh._

_The little girl looks up at her aunt through tear-filled eyes, wondering what she did to deserve this treatment. Though she never knew her mother, she misses her. She misses what Jenny imagines as a soft, tender touch that warms her body with affection. And she definitely misses Daddy, his big glasses and his comfy laps where she'd sit and read books with him. But they're both gone. Jenny is miserable, and alone. Well, except for this bully, this tyrant. "I_ hate _you_ _." Jenny whispers to her aunt._

 _She's surprised when her aunt stops laughing, but isn't afraid at first. In fact, she's emboldened by the first and only time that_ her _words made her aunt quiet. "What did you just say?" The woman finally asks, voice low and dangerous and calm._

_Jenny forces herself to her feet. "I said that I HATE you!" And, for a few seconds, her aunt just stares at her and Jenny feels proud of herself._

_But those few seconds pass quickly, and The Trunchbull launches towards the little girl. Jenny manages to evade her aunt's grasp—one of the only advantages to her being so small and her aunt being so big—and makes a break towards the door. She runs as fast as she can, which isn't very fast, and yanks at the door knob only to find it dead-bolted with a key she doesn't have. She's_ dead.

_Her little hand is still shaking the door knob, hoping somehow that it would miraculously just open and allow her escape, when The Trunchbull catches her. The woman grabs the wrist from the cool metal knob and twists back. The wet snap echoes through the large house before Jenny's screams follow it as she's thrown backward. The little girl lays on the floor where she cradles her left arm, which now hangs limp at an odd angle._

_"Look at what you've done now, you bumbling idiot!" Aunt Trunchbull's voice booms, but it doesn't quiet cover Jenny's screams this time. "Stop screaming, fool!" The girl, blinded by pain, doesn't react. "Now you've done it." The woman kicks the girl in the ribs, just to elicit a reaction, which is just more screaming. Jenny passes out._


	11. Chapter Eleven

**My Eyes Are Open**

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

_Jenny wakes up to find herself in a crisp, white hospital room and her aunt is nowhere in sight. Maybe, somehow, someone came to save her and she's free of her aunt. Though the girl knows it's unlikely, she allows herself to hope for a few minutes._

_The door opens to the room and Jenny is sure it's going to be her aunt storming in to take her home, and is beyond pleasantly surprised to find a young male nurse poking his head in. "May I enter?" He gives a bright smile that shows off white teeth. Jenny nods timidly. "As you wish, your majesty." He opens the door just wide enough to slip in, and then closes it behind him, missing the demure grin that passes on Jenny's face._

_The young man slowly approaches Jenny's hospital bed, and though the girl is nervous and confused, she's intrigued. The nurse notices the way Jenny grips the bed sheets when he gets too close, so he stops and takes an easy step back, subtly maintaining a comfortable distance. "My name is Charlie. I've been checking up on you since you came in, I'm very glad to see you awake!"_

_Jenny glances out the window of her room to see the sun starting to rise. The last thing she remembers was screaming on the hallway floor, and is startled to figure that she's been asleep through all this chaos. The girl wonders where her aunt is, and how the hospital staff managed to keep her away for the twelve hours since Jenny's last memory. The hope in her stomach grows._

_Charlie must sense her confusion, because he slowly yet steadily makes his way to sit on the farthest corner of the girl's bed and sets his clipboard next to him. He's upset to watch the way she collects herself in a small ball, knee to chest, and he almost physically feels her pain when the motion causes her to cringe. "You're Jenny, right?" Jenny nods once. "Jenny, you didn't look too good when your aunt brought you in last night. Do you remember coming in to the hospital?" Jenny slowly shakes her head, not trusting herself with words. Charlie rolls with it, careful to speak in a soft, even tone. "We did some X-rays and found two broken ribs and a spiral fracture in your forearm. Jenny, do you know what a spiral fracture is?"_

_The little girl shakes her head once again. "It usually happens when you twist something and break the bone. Which is why we put you in a cast."_

_Jenny hadn't even realized her left arm, from her knuckles to beyond her elbow, was encased in a bright yellow cast. Despite what it means, Jenny smiles. "Yellow is my favorite color."_

_The young man can't help but allow a smile on his face, but it disappears when he reminds himself of what he was doing. "But Jenny, when we took your X-rays, we found three other broken bones that had healed themselves, they didn't look treated. Did you go to the doctor for those?" He has to crane his neck to not loose contact with her entirely as she shrinks away from the question._

_Jenny thinks back to the time she broke her leg last winter and her aunt refused to take her to the doctor. She had limped around for months. A single tear falls down the girl's cheek and she tries to wipe it with her left hand, forgetting, but it's too heavy and bulky for her to lift right now so she tries again with the right hand and is successful._

_Jenny," Charlie's voice makes Jenny look back to him, after a sweep of the room with her eyes, "your aunt said that you fell down the stairs. If that's true, I won't say anything more on the topic. But if it's not…"_

_The door swings open. "Get out of the bed, you lazy hog," Aunt Trunchbull's voice fills the room, "We're leaving."_

_Miss Trunchbull, you can't be in here." Charlie objects._

_Nonsense, that child is my charge. I'm taking her." She looks back to her niece with a demanding expression, one that Jenny knows better than to argue with, unlike her nurse. "Get your stuff Jenny."_

_Jenny makes no immediately motion to move, but, instead, snaps her head back to face the nurse. She has business to take care of. "That's what happened, I fell down the stairs. I really ought to be more careful. I was silly." She blurts out, then looks to her aunt for approval. All she gets is a disgusted grunt. Jenny gasps as she slides out of bed, the pain in her side excruciating, but finds the shorts she came in with and slips them under her small hospital gown. With absolutely no regard to the girl's broken rib or cased arm, Aunt Trunchbull grabs her niece by the shoulder and shoves the scared little girl out of the hospital._

"Miss Honey, I'm scared." Matilda's little voice pulls Miss Honey from within herself. How she led the girl and situated her in the Chokey is not super clear to the teacher, but Matilda's face is starkly detailed, forever ingrained in her thoughts. The girl's face is mostly stoic, in the way that has become less and less cold in the more time Miss Honey has spent with the girl, with fear only hinted at by the furrow of her brow but screaming from her bright blue orbs that puncture Miss Honey's very soul.

It's that very moment—the moment Jenny's heart shatters and instantly reassembles itself, though now with the little girl as an occupant—, that she realizes she can never be like her aunt. Matilda has shown this to her. "I'll protect you. _Always._ I _promise_." And, though the depth of it is foreign to Miss Honey, she means her words.

A set of doors slam shut from down the hall in a way only identifiable as the main cafeteria doors. Since the bell dismissing the students have yet to ring, the angry noise would've been caused by the Headmistress, who comes and goes completely as she pleases. She's coming this way and will be in her office in a matter of minutes, and Jenny cannot be when she does. The approaching aggressive footfall catalyzes her into action. "I'm sorry." The teacher whispers to her student as she adverts her eyes so she can't watch Matilda being locked in the cupboard by her own hands. It's not a deed she wishes to remember so vividly.

Heart racing and heavily breathing, Jenny makes it out of the office and around the corner simultaneously with the Trunchbull's arrival at her door. The massive woman swings open her door before slamming it shut again, and Miss Honey is isolated from the events within the room. She figures the best case scenario is the Trunchbull throwing the girl on the ground then out of her office, and hopes for it. Miss Honey creeps closer to the door so that she may keep up with what's happening, as well as be there for Matilda. If the girl gets tossed out the door like a rag doll, Miss Honey will catch her. If something goes wrong, she'll be there to do something. Miss Honey thinks how she's never _done_ anything, and figures now is her chance.

Within the office, the headmistress heads straight for the cupboard. There's something extremely satisfying about opening the locked door to a child who's new to the Chokey. It's like she's opening a more figurative door to possibilities for them, that they may be molded into the disciplined child she failed in raising within her niece. A child's first trip to the Chokey marks a new lesson for them, and—eventually—the Trunchbull figures she's bound to have success with one of the maggots. She doubts she'll find that success—the perfection in a child, if there is any at all within the tiny monsters—in this one. Matilda has done nothing but devious and vile crimes, and deserves the full extent of what discipline the headmistress has to offer in attempt to extract the revolting stench of rebellion from the nasty flea.

After tossing the lock to the ground somewhere, Miss Trunchbull yanks the door open and scowls at the shriveling mess of a girl. She reminds her so much of her pathetic niece, that the Trunchbull can't help but associate the same feelings for the girl before her. Matilda's dress is stuck to her body at some parts, and the girl's perpetually ratty hair alternates between wet and knotty. Disgusting. Miss Trunchbull reaches within the cupboard and grabs the dweeb, making sure to scrape her against some of the wall's nails, before throwing her to the ground. Matilda lands in a heap and the headmistress looms over her.

"Well," Miss Trunchbull barks down at the girl, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Matilda gapes up at the big, ugly face above her, conflicted. The headmistress seems to be demanding she say _something_ , but her teacher advised her not to say anything, as it might make things much worse. The little girl refuses to apologize, and doesn't think that is what the headmistress wants anyway. She attempts to discover what the woman wants; a confession, maybe? Submission? But Matilda knowing what her headmistress wants from her doesn't matter in the end, she supposes, she won't give it to her anyway.

" _Well_?" The woman screams.

The little girl stares up at her with even, defiant eyes. No trace of the fear she usually inspires, and it infuriates her.

"You're just like that teacher of your's; _pathetic_." Miss Trunchbull spits out the word in disgust.

Which makes Matilda really burn on the inside. Being compared to her teacher is a compliment, but hearing the headmistress talking about Miss Honey like that is unacceptable.

"Miss Honey is _not_ pathetic. _You_ are." Matilda shouts up at her headmistress, shoving her away with her mind.

And, somehow, Miss Trunchbull is forced back several feet before losing her balance and toppling over on the floor with a loud, ungraceful thud that shakes most of the ground. The woman looks around her before pushing herself to wobbly feet. When she steadies herself, only a moment later, a low groan starts from her throat which turns into a roaring battle-cry as she charges towards the five-year-old.

Only now do Matilda's eyes grow wide and fearful. The Trunchbull knows she's somehow responsible for the woman's brief attack, and she's coming for bloody revenge. She's coming for Matilda. The girl scoots as close to the wall behind her as she can and raises her arms for a blow that never comes.

Miss Honey, having heard the entire interaction, bursts in the room with only the thought of protecting Matilda. When she sees her aunt running towards the little girl cowered against a wall, Jenny runs to stand in front of her student and—therefore—also before her furious and fuming aunt. "Now Miss Trunchbull—" Jenny starts.

But, for once, she's not her aunt's target. The headmistress unceremoniously throws Jenny to the ground, and out of her path. But Miss Honey persists, she forces herself to stand and finds herself stumbling back to Matilda. The teacher throws her body in front of the girl's, undoubtedly bruising and scraping her knees from the force of it, and stretches both arms out either direction, like a cross protecting her favorite student. " _Please_ , headmistress," Jenny pleads, knowing how the woman enjoys her title, "Don't hurt her."

But Miss Trunchbull's hands are already on the younger woman again, readying themselves to easily toss the woman aside once again, when Miss Honey desperately uses her last card, "I'll do _any_ thing."

And then the room is still. She hears Matilda whisper her name from behind her, questioning her, but ignores the girl as the headmistress, perplexed, squints and considers this. Miss Trunchbull stands down, creating a pit in the younger woman's stomach. "Alright." The headmistress stands up straight and takes several proud steps back. Miss Honey takes the opportunity to take the small girl into her arms, and squeezes her arm reassuringly.

"Hit her." Miss Trunchbull places her hands, smug and dignified, on her hips.

Miss Honey flies to her feet, abandoning her student yet still aware to keep her behind her. "What?"

"Discipline the maggot." The headmistress' tone is too demanding, too simple. It leaves no room for objection. "Show me that you've _changed_."

Jenny tries anyway, her eyes angry and afraid. " _No_ , I cannot. I—"

Aunt Trunchbull wastes no time in shoving Jenny against the wall and holding her there with the woman's thick forearm and stopping whatever her niece was going to say. Their faces are close, deadly. Jenny turns her face as much as the restraint on her neck allows so her cheek is against the cool wall, but her aunt leans in closer. "The child clearly needs discipline, less she ends up spineless and useless like _you_." The Trunchbull releases Jenny to breathe normally, and smirks sinisterly at her. "Unless you'd rather me do it."

Despite for taking deep breaths, Jenny keeps herself straight against the wall. She doesn't want to see the look on Matilda's face, afraid of the fear in the girl's big blue eyes. But Jenny knows there's no avoiding it, so she forces her eyes open only to face Matilda's. The little girl's face shows no trace of fear, only trust and determination. Miss Honey knows what she must do.

Jenny ignores the sly look on her aunt's face as she helps Matilda to her feet. She takes another deep breath as she locks eyes with her student and the girl nods in understanding. Jenny's about to do something she's vow to never do. Miss Honey raises her left arm and Matilda looks down at her shoes, bracing herself. Jenny starts to drop her hand, but then turns at the last moment to shove her aunt with all her strength. The woman is large and slow, so she is falling before she can manage to process her niece's open rebellion.

"RUUUUUUNNNN!" Miss Honey shoves Matilda towards the door. The little girl's hand is on the door knob, turning it, when Jenny feels an explosion of pain to the right of her face. Then she feels the cool familiarity of unconsciousness.


End file.
